j 


,-.  W- 


Kl  1  6  1995 


Date:     Tue,  11  Apr-  95  11:07  PDT 

To:       ELI7E16SMVS.  OAC.  UCLA.  EDU 

From:     Andre  Bolen 

Subject:  95-0178441  (Printed:  04/11/95) 

X-Tracking  Number:  95-O178441 


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MC2632122 

CLYE  CLUR 

Mammy  's  white  fol 

Sampson,  Emma  Spe 


Mammy's 
White  Folks 


By 

Emma  Speed  Sampson 


Author  of 
"Billy  and  the  Major" 


The  Reilly  &  Lee  Co. 

Chicago 


Copyright,  1919 

by 
The  Reilly  &  Lee  Co. 


AU  Rights  Reserved 


Made  in  U.  8.  A. 


Published  October  30,  1919 

Second  Printing,  November  3,  1919 

Third  Printing,  March  15,  1920 


Mammy's  White  Folks 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTB*  PAGE 

1  THE  IWWBKRUPTING  BABY 11 

2  ACCEPTING  THE  MASCOT 24 

3  WARM  WATER  AND  MUSTARD 38 

4  THE  WILY  GODMOTHER 45 

5  MAMMY  GETS  A  SURPRISE 53 

6  JUSTIFYING  A  LIE 62 

7  THE  IMAGINARY  PORTRAIT 75 

8  A  WONDERFUL  BIRTHDAY 86 

9  ESTBCIK  MEETS  A  FAIRY  PRINCE 96 

10  BRANCHING  OUT 113 

11  DOCTOR-  JIM  DUDLEY 124 

12  A  FRDSNB  IN  NEED 134 

13  THE  TOO-PERFECT  ATTENDANT 145 

14  A  MONOLOGUE  ON  LOVE 160 

15  FINBINQ  A  NAMESAKE 168 

16  A  MOMENTOUS  DECISION 185 

17  ALMOBT  A  PROPOSAL 195 

18  PLANNING  FOR  A  CATCH 205 

19  MAMMY  LOSES  HER  WAY 212 

20  THE  IDENTIFICATION  OF  MRS.  RICHARDS  222 

21  A  SATISFACTORY  EXPLANATION 229 

22  AN  EMPTY  HOUSEHOLD  . .                     ,  240 


1824062 


Contents 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

23  DISGUISING  A  HOME -.-.• 250 

24  HER  JOYFUL  ARRIVAL 260 

25  NOTHING  THE  SAME 269 

26  THE  PLAN  OF  PATIENCE 276 

27  ESTHER  AND  JIM N 281 

28  SETTING  A  TRAP 289 

29  A  PATIENT'S  IDENTITY 297 

30  THE  UNBELIEVABLE  STORY 304 

31  ESTHER  LEARNS  THE  TRUTH 310 

32  CLEARING  THE  ATMOSPHERE 821 

33  MAMMY'S  JUSTIFICATION.  .  331 


Mammy's 
White  Folks 


Mammy's  White  Folks 


"  Doc  Andy,  is  you  a  rang  yo'  bell? " 

"  No,  Mammy,  I  didn't  ring." 

"  Well,  I  done  hearn  a  bell  a-janglin',  an'  fo' 
Gawd  I  can't  tell  whicht  one  it  is.  Mus'  a  been 
the  win*  an*  rain.  I  never  seed  a  house  wif  so 
many  bells,  all  a-soundin'  alike.  Fust  I  think 
it  is  the  phome,  an'  whin  I  takes  down  the  lil 
deceiver,  all  I  kin  make  out  is  some  gal  a-sayin' : 
'What  number?'  An'  whin  I  says:  '  Sebenty- 
seben,  Gyardin  Street!'  she  jaw  back  wif  *  In- 
f ermation !  *  I  reckon  she  take  me  f er  some 
fool  what  don'  know  whar  I  libs." 

Dr.  Wallace  laughed  as  he  dealt  the  cards, 
and  his  two  companions  joined  in.  The  old 
woman  looked  curiously  over  the  shoulder  of 
her  master  as  the  game  went  on. 

Mammy  was  worried.  As  she  watched  the 
play  of  the  three  men,  disapproval  was  writ 

11 


12  Mammy's  White  Folks 

in  every  feature  of  her  worn  old  face.  She 
hated  to  see  Doc  Andy  frittering  away  his 
time  in  this  fashion.  She  knew  that  patients 
would  not  seek  him  out  if  he  continued  to  travel 
the  down-hill  path  on  which  he  had  started. 
Card-playing  and  drinking,  as  Mammy  was 
well  aware,  were  not  considered  desirable  re 
commendations  for  a  young  physician. 

Nor  did  Doc  Andy's  guests  meet  with  much 
favor  in  the  old  woman's  eyes.  True,  she  did 
like  solemn  Peter  Roche,  but  Peter  was  an 
old  college  chum  of  Dr.  Wallace.  He  was  not 
"one  of  them  thar  fly-by-nights,"  as  Mammy 
put  it,  "  what  never  done  a  lick  er  wuck  in 
they  lives." 

"  Mr.  Peter,"  she  would  s&y,  "  is  a  gem'man. 
He  talks  quiet  an*  dresses  quiet  an*  looks  lak 
he's  willin'  ter  leave  a  drap  in  the  bottle  —  mo'n 
that  there  Stanley  wif  his  loud  talk  an'  red 
neckercher  an*  his  greedy  th'oat." 

Stanley  was  Mammy's  pet  aversion.  She  did 
not  like  his  roving  black  eyes  and  his  small 
white  hands. 

"  Ain't  got  no  use  fer  lil-handed  men  folks," 
she  would  say.  "  If'n  they'd  ever  done  any- 
thin'  wuth  doin',  I  'low  they  would  a-biggened 
up." 

Andrew  Wallace  had  shown  great  promise  in 


The  Interrupting  Baby          13 

his  youth  in  spite  of  an  extreme  shyness  that 
had  always  held  him  back  at  the  crucial  moment. 
His  greatest  handicap  was  his  fear  of  women. 
He  was  afraid  of  all  women  —  that  is,  all  but 
Mammy.     He  declared  that  he  would  rather 
starve  than  be  a  woman's  doctor.    Had  he  not 
possessed   a   comfortable   patrimony,    undoubt 
edly  he  would  have  starved.    It  made  little  dif 
ference  to  the  inhabitants  of  the  southern  city 
to  which  he  had  come  that  he  had  graduated 
with  the  highest  honors  from  one  of  the  best 
medical  colleges  in  the  country.    His  experience 
in  New  York  hospitals  meant  nothing  to  them. 
All  they  knew  was  that  a  bashful  young  man 
had  come  to  live  in  the  old  Grant  house,  with 
a  capable-looking  old  colored  woman  to  keep 
house  for  him.    The  doctor's  new  sign,  recently 
hung  out,  was  a  small  and  modest  one.    But  it 
was  really  not  hung  out  at  all,  for  it  was  sus 
pended  so  far  behind  the  vines  and  lilac  bushes 
that  it  could  be  found  only  after  diligent  search. 
On  that  windy,  rainy  night  in  late  March, 
when  the  lilac  leaves  were  beginning  to  make  a 
decided  showing  and  the  violets  that  bordered 
the  brick  walk  leading  from  the  street  to  the 
deep   hospitable    porch   were   making   the    air 
sweet  with  their  fragrance,  the  doctor  and  his 
old  servant  had  been  established  in  the  Grant 


14          Mammy's  White  Folks 

house  about  four  months.  Up  to  that  time, 
of  pay  patients  he  had  none,  but  he  had  a 
growing  charity  practice.  Charity  patients 
could  not  object  if  their  physician  sat  up  more 
than  half  the  night  playing  poker  with  doubtful 
companions,  nor  would  they  withdraw  their 
patronage  if  professional  calls  were  made  more 
or  less  haphazardly. 

Mammy  was  the  only  person  who  objected 
to  the  doctor's  manner  of  living.  The  charity 
patients  were  sure  to  hold  a  monopoly  of  his 
expert  services  so  long  as  he  kept  to  his  mode 
of  life.  Naturally  they  were  not  eager  for  a 
reform.  Most  of  the  young  men  who  dropped 
in  almost  every  night  to  enjoy  a  quiet  little 
game,  or  to  moisten  their  parched  throats  with 
Dr.  Wallace's  best  bourbon,  would  have  found 
it  difficult  to  conceal  their  chagrin  had  they 
noticed  in  their  host  any  yearning  for  a  return 
to  the  straight  and  narrow  path.  But  wise  old 
Mammy  knew  full  well  that  unlimited  free 
drinks  would  finally  mean  limited  food  and 
fuel,  clamoring  collectors  and  loss  of  credit. 

Not  only  did  Mammy  look  with  small  love 
on  most  of  Doc  Andy's  friends,  but  she  deeply 
resented  her  young  master's  shyness  with 
women. 

"  No  doctor  ain't  a  gonter  git  along  'thout 


The  Interrupting  Baby          15 

women  folks  any  mo'n  preachers  kin.  Women 
is  allus  a-thinkin'  about  they  sick  souls  an' 
bodies,  an'  when  they  ain't  a-worryin'  'bout 
they  own,  they  is  a-tryin'  to  heal  some  other 
pusson's.  It's  allus  physic  or  prayer  wif  women. 
They  is  got  ter  hab  doctors  an'  preachers,  an' 
doctors  an'  preachers  is  got  ter  hab  them." 

But  Dr.  Wallace  either  would  or  could  not 
overcome  his  terror  of  the  fair  sex.  He  man 
aged  to  conceal  it  where  charity  patients  were 
concerned,  by  presenting  a  cold,  stern  exterior, 
thereby  scaring  them  until  the  wiser  among  them 
learned  that  he  was  more  afraid  of  them  than 
they  were  of  him.  Some  of  these  women  almost 
worshipped  the  young  doctor,  with  the  kindly, 
sympathetic  mouth  which  he  tried  so  hard  to 
make  grim.  Some  of  them  even  divined  that  he 
was  not  happy  —  and  wondered  why.  Dr.  Wal 
lace  had  meant  to  make  more  of  his  youth  and 
his  talents.  His  dream  had  been  so  much  larger 
than  the  reality  —  this  stupid  existence  with  its 
humdrum  days  and  carnival  nights. 

But  through  it  all,  Mammy  patiently  waited, 
serenely  confident  that  sooner  or  later  Doc 
Andy  would  come  to  his  senses  and  turn  over  a 
new  leaf. 

While  Dr.  Wallace  and  his  two  guests  played 
slowly  and  silently,  Mammy  bustled  in  and  out 


16  Mammy's  White  Folks 

of  the  room,  pausing  a  moment  now  and  then 
at  her  master's  side. 

The  host  dealt  the  cards  deftly,  and  the  hig, 
silent  young  man  at  his  left  opened  up  with  a 
small  bet.  Peter  Roche  was  a  slow  and  wary 
player.  Stanley,  who  sat  on  the  doctor's  right, 
played  quickly  and  recklessly.  The  furtive 
eagerness  with  which  he  glanced  at  his  cards 
was  an  indication  that  winning  or  losing  meant 
more  to  him  than  he  cared  to  confess.  Grasp 
ing  a  huge  pile  of  red  and  blue  chips,  he  shoved 
them  into  the  center  of  the  table. 

"  I  see,  Stanley,  you  are  determined  to  break 
me,"  declared  Dr.  Wallace  gaily,  placing  his 
last  chip  on  the  pile.  "  I  reckon  I'll  have  to 
borrow  from  Peter.  Don't  go,  Mammy,  you 
might  bring  me  good  luck." 

"'Me  bring  you  good  luck,  Doc  Andy!  I'd 
er  brung  it  long  ergo  if'n  I  could  er.  I's  mo' 
of  er  hoodoo,  I's  afeard." 

The  host  helped  himself  from  Peter's 
pile. 

"  I  call!"  finally  he  cried. 

He  won.  As  he  raked  in  the  stacks  of  red, 
white  and  blue  chips,  Peter  smiled  grimly  at 
the  discomfiture  of  his  fellow  guest. 

"  Bluffing,  as  usual ! "  he  muttered  under  his 
breath.  Stanley's  handsome  black  eyes  glit- 


The  Interrupting  Baby          17 

tered  greedily  as  his  host  gleefully  piled  up  his 
winnings. 

"See,  Mammy,  what  did  I  tell  you?  I  had 
awful  luck  all  evening  until  you  came  in." 

"  No,  sir,  I  nebber  bringed  no  good  luck," 
grumbled  the  old  negress,  "  mus*  be  somebody 
else.  But  listen!  Ain't  dat  a  bell  a-janglin? " 

"  I  don't  hear  anything." 

"  Well,  I  hearn  sompen,  an  I's  gonter  keep 
on  perusin'  roun'  til  I  fin'  out  what  it  is." 

"  Get  a  bottle  first !  "  demanded  Stanley,  but 
the  old  woman  marched  off  without  a  backward 
glance,  every  line  of  her  erect  figure  and 
bandana-kerchiefed  head  plainly  indicating  that 
she  took  orders  from  nobody  but  her  master. 

"  I  wouldn't  stand  for  her  impertinence  a 
minute,"  said  Stanley,  resentfully. 

"  Impertinence!  Mammy  impertinent  to  me! 
Why,  man,  she  has  raised  me ! "  declared  the 
host.  "  I  couldn't  get  along  five  minutes  with 
out  Mammy." 

Mammy  did  not  return  at  once.  In  fact,  she 
was  gone  so  long  that  Dr.  Wallace  wondered  if, 
unconsciously,  he  had  done  something  to  offend 
the  dear  old  woman. 

"  Don't  deal  yet,  Stanley,  please !  Let  me 
pay  my  debts,"  he  said,  handing  over  the 
stacked  chips  to  Peter. 


18  Mammy's  White  Folks 

"Going  to  stop?"  Stanley  had  a  slight 
sneer  on  liis  lips. 

"  Certainly  not  —  not  while  I  am  the  win 
ner!" 

"  Perhaps  we  had  better  stop,"  Peter  broke 
his  silence.  "  Doc  doesn't  often  get  a  chance 
to  stop  winner." 

"Pooh,  that's  all  right!  But  what  is  that 
queer  noise?  It  isn't  a  bell.  Mammy,"  he 
called,  "what's  that  racket?" 

No  answer  from  Mammy,  who  was  noisily 
unlocking  the  front  door  It  was  Stanley's 
deal.  His  small  white  hands  fingered  the 
cards  so  rapidly  that  one  could  scarcely  follow 
his  motions.  Peter  looked  suspiciously  at  the 
dealer  as  he  flashed  the  cards  from  the  pack. 
Peter  opened  up  with  a  small  bet.  He  was 
nothing  of  a  plunger.  He  played  the  game  of 
poker  with  the  same  quiet  caution  that  he 
played  the  game  of  life.  For  several  rounds 
the  betting  was  conservative  and  sensible.  Sud 
denly  Stanley  came  in  with  an  alarming  increase. 

"  Let's  whoop  her  up!  " 

"  I  think  I'll  drop  out,"  was  Peter's  sane 
decision.  This  time  Stanley  might  not  be 
bluffing. 

The  host  wearily  counted  out  enough  blue 
chips  for  a  small  raise.  He  wished  his  guests 


The  Interrupting  Baby          19 

would  quit  and  go  home.  He  wished  Mammy 
would  hurry  up  and  get  the  door  open,  and 
that  the  strange  noise  he  kept  on  hearing  would 
stop. 

Again  Stanley  came  in  with  a  big  increase. 
Dr.  Wallace  called  him.  Stanley  showed  his 
disgust  at  the  small  amount  of  his  certain  win 
nings  as  he  laid  on  the  table  four  smiling  kings. 

"Gee  whillikens!"  whistled  Peter.  "What 
sense  I  did  show  in  going  when  going  was 
good.  You  weren't  bluffing  after  all." 

The  doctor  spread  out  four  aces.  Stanley 
had  his  hand  curved  ready  to  rake  in  the  chips. 
On  his  countenance  was  mingled  astonishment 
and  rage. 

Peter  eyed  him  keenly.  Could  it  be  possible 
that  Stanley  had  stacked  the  deck  so  that  he 
might  hold  the  four  face  cards,  and  was 
defeated  only  by  Andrew  Wallace's  phenomenal 
luck?  Peter  had  clumsy  hands  that  fumbled 
the  cards,  and  he  was  inclined  to  suspect  any 
one  who  was  so  adroit  as  Stanley. 

Mammy  had  succeeded  at  last  in  opening  the 
refractory  door,  and  again  that  strange  sound 
filled  the  old  house.  Dr.  Wallace  jumped  from 
his  chair,  upsetting  the  card  table.  The  chips, 
red,  white  and  blue,  rolled  over  the  floor.  The 
cards  were  scattered  hither  and  yon.  To  the 


20          Mammy's  White  Folks 

practiced  ear  of  a  doctor  there  was  no  doubt 
about  that  sound.  When  Mammy  hurriedly 
returned  to  the  room  with  a  squirming  bundle 
held  close  in  her  arms,  her  master  was  not 
astonished. 

"  Look  what  some  low  flung  pusson  done  lef ' 
on  our  do'step !  Lef  it  'thout  so  much  as  '  by 
yo'  leave ! '  Wet  as  a  rat,  too !  " 

She  laid  the  bundle  on  the  card  table,  which 
Peter  had  righted,  and  with  trembling  hands 
began  unwrapping  it,  grumbling  all  the  while. 
The  young  men  stood  as  though  frozen.  If 
Mammy  had  been  preparing  to  turn  loose  a 
rattlesnake,  they  could  not  have  looked  more 
frightened. 

There  were  many  layers  around  the  bit  of 
humanity  that  had  come  among  them;  first,  a 
woman's  blue-serge,  rainsoaked  jacket;  then,  a 
piece  of  blanket;  then,  several  yards  of  cheap 
white  flannelette  and  some  bits  of  coarse  lawn. 

It  was  a  girl.  The  stage  of  its  redness  made 
Dr.  Wallace  and  the  knowing  Mammy  decide 
that  it  could  not  be  much  more  than  a  week 
old.  Such  a  tiny  little  girl  she  was,  a  philoso 
pher,  too,  as  the  moment  the  wrappings  were 
removed  she  stopped  the  incessant  wailing  and 
blinked  at  the  company. 

Everybody  knows  that  babies  do  not  hold  out 


The  Interrupting  Baby          21 

their  arms  to  be  taken  before  they  are  two 
weeks  old,  nor  do  they  smile.  You  niay  search 
through  all  the  baby  diaries  kept  by  fond 
parents,  and  nowhere  will  you  see  that  baby 
held  out  her  arms  or  smiled  on  the  eighth  or 
even  the  ninth  day.  But  Mammy  would  have 
it  that  this  little  girl  held  out  her  arms  to  her 
to  be  taken,  and  Doc  Andy  insisted  that  she 
smiled  a  little  three-cornered  smile  right  in  his 
face  as  he  bent  over  her.  At  any  rate  Mammy 
took  her,  and  the  doctor  treasured  the  little 
crooked  smile  in  his  bashful  heart. 

"  Lawd  love  us  I  Now  ain't  she  peart  ?  Come 
here  ter  yo*  Mammy,  sugar  pie!  She  gonter 
wrop  you  up  warm  an*  snug." 

As  the  old  woman  picked  up  the  baby,  some 
thing  fell  from  the  folds  of  the  flannel.  Stan 
ley  sprang  forward  to  get  it,  but  Peter  was 
ahead  of  him.  It  looked  like  a  bundle  of  legal 
documents  and  that  was  in  Peter's  line.  It 
proved  to  be  nothing  more  interesting  than  an 
envelope  of  patterns,  "  Baby's  First  Clothes." 

'  Well,  if  the  po'  thing  ain't  been  tryin'  ter 
make  some  baby  clothes!  She's  already  cut  out 
them  lil  white  rags,  an'  I  reckon  this  flannil  is 
fer  pettiskirts.  Po'  thing!  Po*  thing!  "  Mammy 
already  had  forgotten  about  the  low  flung 
pusson. 


22  Mammy's  White  Folks 

'Yes,  poor  thing!"  echoed  the  doctor. 

"  And  so,  you  are  not  such  a  woman  hater  as 
we  have  been  led  to  believe!"  exclaimed  Stan 
ley,  who  had  been  turning  over  the  swaddling 
rags  as  though  searching  for  something.  He 
had  even  slipped  his  hand  into  the  pockets  of  the 
serge  jacket. 

"  I  couldn't  hate  a  little  fairy  baby  like  thi^" 
declared  Dr.  Wallace. 

"  I  wasn't  speaking  of  the  baby  but  her 
mother." 

"  Her  mother!    Who  is  her  mother?  " 

"  Oh,  come  now,  Dr.  Wallace!  Don't  play 
the  innocent.  You  are  some  years  older  than 
this  foundling,  and  so  are  we." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about  — 
could  you  mean  —  but  surely  not  1 "  The  doc 
tor's  face  wore  a  blank  look  at  the  suggestion  in 
his  guest's  words  and  his  insinuating  glance. 

"Yes,  he  means  it!"  cried  Mammy.  "He 
means  it  'caze  he  ain't  got  no  decency  hisse'f 
an'  he  'lows  ev'ybody  is  lak  him.  I  knows  I  is 
a  ol'  black  'oman  what  ain't  got  no  business  a 
sassin'  white  folks,  but  I  aint  a  gonter  sot  here 
an  let  no  po'  white  trash  call  my  young  marster 
out'n  his  name."  The  old  woman's  voice  arose 
almost  to  a  scream. 

"Mammy!  Mammy!  You  mustn't  say  that," 


The  Interrupting  Baby          23 

pleaded  Dr.  Wallace.     "  It  was  a  jest  on  Mr. 
Stanley's  part." 

"Jes'  a  lie!  That's  what  it  war.  If'n  it 
warn't  fer  de  sweetness  and  beautifulness  er  dis 
lil  lamb  I'd  be  a  thinkin'  he  war  a-talkin'  that 
a  way  jes'  ter  put  us  off'n  de  track  an'  he  was 
'sposible  fer  de  baby  his  own  se'f,  but  Gawd 
hisse'f  couldn't  a  formed  no  miricle  ekal  ter 
lettin'  sech  a  debble  be  de  paw  er  sech  a  angel." 

"  Mammy !  Mammy !  Please  calm  yourself. 
Remember,  he  is  my  guest." 

"  He  was  the  fust  ter  fergit  it." 

Stanley  was  somewhat  nonplussed  by  the  old 
i regress's  tirade,  but  Peter  could  not  conceal 
his  mirth  and  delight  at  what  he  considered 
Mammy's  timely  thrust. 

"  I  guess  I'll  go,"  and  Stanley  sullenly  took 
his  departure. 

'  Yes,   an   I   guess   you'll   stay   away,   too," 
Peter    muttered    as    the    front   door   slammed. 
'  You     didn't     bother    to     settle     up     before 
leaving." 


Chapter  2 
ACCEPTING  THE  MASCOT 

"  Doc  Andy,  I  wanter  hab  a  lil  talk  wif 
you." 

"All  right,  Mammy!" 

It  was  the  morning  after  the  little  creature 
had  been  left  on  Dr.  Wallace's  doorstep,  a 
morning  in  late  March.  Everything  seemed 
swept  and  scrubbed  by  the  wind  and  rain  of 
the  night  before.  The  young  doctor  had  a 
feeling  that  he,  too,  had  undergone  a  kind  of 
spring  cleaning.  In  the  first  place,  he  had 
slept  well,  although  he  had  rather  expected 
that  the  baby's  crying  would  keep  him  awake. 
Then,  when  morning  came,  he  had  awakened 
with  a  clear  brain  and  a  buoyancy  of  spirits 
that  he  had  not  known  for  months.  He  had 
bounced  out  of  bed,  and  a  moment  later 
Mammy  heard  him  whistling  in  his  bath.  The 
old  woman  chuckled  with  joy  and  gave  an 
extra  pat  to  the  little  form  lying  in  the  crib 
she  had  improvised  the  night  before.  It  was 
an  old  trunk.  She  had  fitted  a  feather  pillow 
in  the  tray,  and  there  the  mite  had  slept  the 

24 


Accepting  the  Mascot  25 

of  one  who  had  sought  and  found.  Was 
the  mother  sleeping,  too? 

"  You  lay  still,  honey,  an'  go  on  sleepin  while 
Mammy  knocks  up  some  waffles  for  Doe 
Andy's  brefkus.  We  women  folks  mus'n  do 
nothin'  ter  upset  the  men  folks.  He's  up  two 
hours  'fo'  he  usually  is,  but  that  ain't  nothin' 
to  we  alls.  We's  gonter  git  his  brefkus  ready 
an*  say  nothin'  'tall.  We's  gonter  manage  him, 
ain't  we,  honey?  You  ain't  gonter  cry  none, 
at  leas'  not  at  the  fust  beginning.  You's 
gonter  be  sech  a  good  lil  baby,  th'  ain't  nobody 
hardly  gonter  know  you's  aroun'.  If  you  is 
good,  an'  the  waffles  is  right  an*  crispy,  an'  the 
sun  goes  on  a  shinin',  then  th'  ain't  nothin'  me'n 
you  can't  'complish." 

The  sun  had  gone  on  shining,  the  waffles  were 
as  perfect  as  only  Mammy's  waffles  could  be, 
and  the  small  interloper  had  gone  on  sleeping, 
thereby  showing  the  innate  tact  that  Mammy 
had  hoped  she  possessed  —  the  tact  to  manage 
men  folks. 

Breakfast  was  cleared  away,  and  the  master 
followed  his  old  servant  to  the  kitchen  at  her 
invitation.  She  felt  that  she  could  do  her  man 
aging  of  men  folks  better  back  in  her  own 
domain  where  she  had  undisputed  sway.  Then, 
too,  the  baby  was  there,  still  peacefully  sleep-, 


26  Mammy's  White  Folks 

ing  in  the  trunk  tray.  The  top  of  the  trunk, 
propped  up  with  a  stick  of  kindling,  acted  as 
a  wind  shield,  protecting  the  young  baby  from 
the  current  of  fresh,  cool  air  that  came  through 
the  opened  window. 

"  I  jes'  histed  it  a  minute,"  explained 
Mammy.  "  The  angel  Gabrul  hisse'f  couldn't 
cook  waffles  'thout  some  smudge  an'  smoke." 

The  kitchen  in  the  old  Grant  house  was  a 
very  pleasant  place  in  spite  of  the  lingering 
smell  of  burning  fat.  Andy  had  always  liked 
any  kitchen  where  Mammy  ruled.  Ever  since 
he  could  remember  he  had  been  coming  to  the 
kitchen  to  have  a  chat  with  the  faithful  soul. 
He  could  recall  the  time,  in  the  old  days  in  Vir 
ginia,  when  Mammy  had  been  young  —  not 
much  older  than  he  was  on  that  morning  in 
March  —  and  he  had  sat  in  a  high  chair  in  the 
kitchen  and  she  had  made  him  little  thimble- 
biscuit  and  gingerbread  boys.  What  a  good 
creature  she  was! 

"  How  is  the  baby,  Mammy?  I  hope  she  did 
not  keep  you  awake." 

The  doctor  bent  over  the  improvised  cradle 
and  peeped  gingerly  at  the  bit  of  downy  head 
that  showed  above  the  patchwork  quilt,  Mam 
my's  best  log-cabin  pattern,  which  she  had 
donated  unhesitatingly  to  the  cause. 


Accepting  the  Mascot  27 

"  Keep  me  awake !  Why,  Doc  Andy,  she 
is  the  bes'  lil  sleeper  you  ever  seed,  an*  she 
lap  up  her  milk  jes'  lak  a  pig.  I  done  foun' 
that  a  baby  what  sleeps,  eats;  an'  a  baby  what 
eats,  sleeps.  You  done  both  from  the  time  you 
was  bawn,  an'  this  here  chil'  does  the  same." 

"  I'm  glad  of  that,  Mammy.  I  couldn't  have 
you  kept  awake." 

"  Well,  as  fer  that,  I  wouldn't  make  no  min* 
if  n  I  did.  Me'n  you's  been  a-sleepin  too  much 
here  lately.  I  reckon  the  good  Gawd  done 
sent  this  baby  chil'  here  to  wake  us  up." 

"  Perhaps! "  There  was  a  flush  on  the  young 
man's  cheek.  "  And  now,  Mammy,  what  is  the 
understanding  we  are  to  have?  " 

The  old  woman  placed  a  chair  for  her  young 
master  where  he  could  see  the  ray  of  sunlight 
that  found  its  way  through  the  crack  in  the  old 
trunk  top  and  fell  directly  on  baby's  fluffy 
crown. 

"  Ain't  she  got  a  sweet  lil  shape  a-lyin'  there 
under  the  kivers? " 

The  doctor  gazed  thoughtfully  at  the  child's 
form  showing  in  a  blurred  outline  under  the 
quilt.  It  was  a  sweet  little  shape  from  the 
downy  crown  to  the  curve  of  the  back  and  on 
to  the  foot,  which  asserted  itself  in  a  tiny  hump. 
There  was  something  very  appealing  in  that 


28          Mammy's  White  Folks 

helpless  form,  the  lines  so  soft  and  flowing, 
accented  at  certain  points  as  though  a  great 
artist  had  begun  to  draw  a  baby's  figure  and 
with  a  few  strokes  of  his  charcoal  had  but  indi 
cated  the  proportions. 

"  Her  bar  is  gonter  be  gol',  shiny '  gol'," 
declared  Mammy.  "  I  done  look  at  it  side 
ways,  an'  I  done  look  at  it  straight,  an'  which 
ever  way  the  light  hits  it,  it  sho  do  shine. 
Her  eyes  is  blue  now,  but  they  is  lil  gol' 
flecks  in  'em,  an'  that  is  a  sho  sign  they  is  ter 
turn  brown.  I  is  always  'lowed  that  the  putties' 
pussons  of  all  is  them  what  has  brown  eyes  an' 
goldin  bar.  Yo'  maw  was  complected  that  way, 
an'  she  was  the  putties'  gal  in  the  whole  county. 
They  is  right  flirtified,  they  do  say,  but  a  gal 
might  be  'lowed  ter  flirt  some." 

The  doctor  smiled  at  the  old  woman's  talk. 

He  felt  she  had  something  to  get  out  of  him  — 

-  what,  he  could  not  tell,  but  whatever  it  was,  he 

was  sure  she  would  not  come  to  the  point  until 

her  own  good  time.  » 

"  You  done  had  good  luck  las'  night,  didn't 
you,  Doc  Andy? " 

"  In  cards?  Yes,  good  enough,  but  I  think 
I'll  stop  playing  cards,  Mammy." 

"  Praise  Gawd,  that's  the  bes'  luck  yit ! 
Looks  like  you  done  had  a  change  er  luck  from 


Accepting  the  Mascot  29 

the  minute  I  hearn  the  baby  a-cryin  that  time 
I  kep'  a-thinkin  'twar  a  bell  a-ringing. 
'Member?" 

"  Yes,  I  think  you  are  right." 

"  An'  this  mornin'  the  gemman  named  Mr. 
Carley  what  done  move  in  the  great  house  a 
piece  up  here  on  Gyardin  street  done  phomed 
over  fer  you  to  come  see  his  cook  what  is  took 
bad.  'Cose,  I  ain't  thinkin'  much  'bout  folks 
a-givin  you  the  dirty  wuck  ter  do,  a  callin'  you 
in  fer  niggers,  but  them  folks  is  rich  an'  it 
means  they  is  willin  ter  pay.  'Tain't  no  cha'ity 
call." 

'  Well,  then  I  had  better  be  going,"  laughed 
the  young  man. 

"No,  sir,  don't  you  be  in  no  hurry!"  inter 
posed  Mammy,  quickly.  "  I  done  toF  Mr. 
Carley  you  had  yo'  office  hour  ter  keep.  I 
wa'nt  a  gonter  let  no  nigger  cook  think  you 
didn't  hab  nothin'  ter  do  but  sign  her  sick- 
benefit  cyard." 

"  Well,  then,  I'll  finish  my  pipe." 

"What  I's  a-thinkin'  is  — I  b'lieve  this  lil 
lamb  is  what  oF  Marse  Bob  useter  call  a 
muscat." 

"  A  muscat?  Oh,  yes,  a  mascot!  "  suggested 
Dr.  Wallace,  leaning  over  the  baby  to  conceal 
his  grin. 


so  Mammy's  White  Folks 

1  Yessir,  a  mascot !  Marse  Bob  done  say 
they  bring  look  luck,  them  mascots,  jes'  so  long 
as  they  stay  with  you.  An'  now,  Doc 
Andy  — "  and  at  this  point  the  old  woman 
took  on  a  pleading  tone,  and  the  doctor  knew 
she  had  at  last  come  to  the  point  "  —  don't  you 
sen*  this  po'  lil  critter  ter  no  orphamige  —  she's 
too  sweet  ter  be  brung  up  in  them  ol*  long- 
waisted  print  frocks  with  the  slimiky  skirts  an' 
pinched-in  sleeves.  She  won't  be  no  trouble 
ter  nobody  but  me,  an*  I  ain't  got  a  libin'  thing 
ter  do,  an*  kin  keep  keer  er  her  easy  as  dirt. 
You  won't  sen'  her  away,  will  you,  Doc  Andy?  " 

This  problem  had  been  uppermost  in  Dr. 
Wallace's  mind  when  he  dropped  off  to  sleep 
the  night  before,  and  it  was  first  in  his  thoughts 
when  he  awakened,  but  somehow  it  did  not  seem 
to  be  a  vexing  problem,  and  he  considered  it 
quite  calmly.  What  should  he  do  with  the 
baby?  Should  he  report  the  matter  to  the  police, 
and  have  the  woman  tracked  and  made  to  take 
care  of  her  own  offspring,  —  that  is,  if  she 
were  still  alive?  Or  should  he  keep  the  little 
thing  and,  with  Mammy's  help,  try  to  raise  it? 

The  thought  of  giving  the  child  up  to  the 
police,  to  be  cared  for  either  by  the  mother,  who 
evidently  had  found  the  job  too  much  for  her 
even  in  less  than  two  short  weeks,  or  to  be  sent 


Accepting  the  Mascot  31 

to  an  institution,  caused  Wallace  to  have  a  queer 
choky  feeling  in  his  throat.  From  the  moment 
that  Mammy  had  unrolled  the  old  blue-serge 
jacket  and  the  piece  of  blanket,  and  he  had 
looked  down  on  the  little  helpless  bit  of  pink 
humanity,  he  had  experienced  a  certain  sense  of 
ownership.  Stanley's  rude  suggestion  that  he, 
Wallace,  was  perhaps  the  father  of  the  child,  had 
not  made  him  angry.  He  almost  wished  he 
could  have  been  her  father. 

He  looked  at  Mammy  as  she  stood  before 
him,  her  wrinkled  hands  trembling  as  she  held 
them  out  in  appeal,  and  her  good  old  brown 
face  working  with  emotion,  and  the  question 
was  settled. 

"  We'll  keep  the  kid,  Mammy,  if  it  won't  be 
too  hard  on  you." 

"  Oh,  Andy,  my  Andy  boy !  I  knowed  you 
would  say  it ! "  but  the  fact  that  she  sat  down 
on  a  kitchen  chair  and  covered  her  face  with 
her  apron  showed  that  she  had  not  known  it 
at  all.  She  had  spent  a  night  of  terrible  sus 
pense,  fearing  that  her  precious  charge  would 
be  taken  away  from  her  in  the  morning.  The 
old  woman  soon  recovered  her  composure,  and 
once  more  proceeded  with  her  onslaught. 

"  Now,  Doc  Andy,  while  we  is  on  the  subjic, 
I  thinks  we  mought  jes'  as  well  finish  it  up." 


32  Mammy's  White  Folks 

'  It  seems  settled  to  me.  What  more  is  there 
to  say?  We'll  keep  the  baby  and  do  our  best 
by  it,"  declared  the  doctor,  knocking  the  ashes 
out  of  his  pipe  preparatory  to  making  his  pro 
fessional  call  on  the  rich  neighbor's  cook. 

"  But  is  we  gonter  do  our  bes'?  That's  what 
is  a-worryin  me.  Is  jes'  gibin'  a  chiT  a  home 
an'  a-lovin  it  the  bes*  we  kin  do? " 

'  What  more  can  we  do,  Mammy?" 

"  If'n  this  here  lil  gal  starts  ter  school  an'  the 
chilluns  fin'  out  she  ain't  nothin'  but  a  foumlin', 
what  they  gonter  call  her?  Ain't  iliey  gonter 
be  somebody  ter  hurt  her  blessed  lil  feelin's  an' 
break  her  po'  lil  heart  at  ev'y  turn?  An'  if'n 
she  grows  up  an'  gits  a  beau  lover,  ain't  it 
gonter  be  hard  wif  her  to  have  ter  'fess  she  ain't 
got  no  paw  an'  ain't  never  knowed  her  maw." 

'  That's  so,  Mammy,  but  I  don't  see  what  we 
can  do  about  that.  It  isn't  our  fault  that  things 
are  as  they  are." 

"  No,  sir!  'Tain't  our  fault  things  is  as  they 
is,  but  it's  gwine  ter  be  our  fault  if  we  lets  'em 
stay  as  they  am.  We  got  ter  do  a  lil  lyin',  but 
if  Gawd  don't  fergib  us,  he  ain't  what  I  takes 
him  ter  be.  If'n  we  starts  out  wif  a  good  lie 
an'  sticks  to  it,  it'll  come  easier  an'  easier  ter  us." 

The  doctor  looked  mystified.  Mammy,  the 
soul  of  honor,  deliberately  planning  a  lie! 


Accepting  the  Mascot  33 

"  Well,  Mammy,  what  tangled  web  are  we 
going  to  weave?" 

"  We's  a  gonter  manufacture  a  maw  an'  paw 
fer  this  here  lamb.  We's  gonter  make  her  come 
in  ter  this  here  worl'  lak  white  folks  ought  ter 
come.  It  don't  make  so  much  diffunce  'bout 
niggers.  Looks  lak  folks  don't  look  down  on 
them  none  fer  being  onreglar.  I  reckon  they 
think  it's  good  enough  fer  them,  but  you  know, 
Doc  Andy,  how  it  marks  a  white  chiT  not  ter 
have  reg'lar  parients." 

"Well,  but  —  " 

'  What 's  the  reason  you  couldn't  perten'  lak 
you  was  her  paw,  an'  her  maw  was  yo'  wedded 
wife  what  died  when  the  lil  baby  was  bawn? 
Folks  don't  know  you  much  roun*  here,  and 
them  what  does  wouldn't  put  nothin*  on  you. 
'Tain't  so  likely  fer  men  folks  to  be  claimin' 
wives  what  they  ain't  nebber  had,  an'  nobody 
wouldn't  'spicion  nothin'.  'Tain't  lak  you  was 
a  po'  woman.  She  would  have  ter  show  her 
stiffgate  an'  her  ring,  an'  then  some  ol'  scan'le 
talker  would  come  a-rakin  up  sompen  on  her 
an'  prove  her  husban'  had  a  wedded  wife  in 
some  other  town  even  if  she  done  made  up  the 
husban'  an'  there  wa'n't  no  sich  a  pusson." 

Mammy  paused  for  breath.  The  doctor 
looked  at  her  in  amazement.  (Could  the  old 
woman  be  crazy? 


34          Mammy's  White  Folks 

"  It  wouldn't  put  no  mo'  'sponsibility  on  you 
than  you  is  already  'sumin'.  A  dead  wife  what 
ain't  nebber  libed  ain't  no  trouble  'tall.  You 
ain't  eben  got  ter  buy  her  a  stroud  an'  bury  her. 
I  knows  you  is  scairt  er  female  women  an'  ain't 
got  no  idea  er  marryin'  one  er  them  what  is 
sho  nuf — -one  made  out  er  meat  an'  bones - 
but  this  here  wife  what  I'm  perposin'  ter  you 
don't  mean  nothin',  nothin'  mo'n  jes'  a  per- 
tection  ter  this  po'  lil  foumlin'  what  the  good 
Gawd  done  see  fit  ter  sen'  us." 

"  But  suppose  the  real  mother  should  turn 
up  and  even  the  real  father  —  what  then?" 

"  That  po'  critter  ain't  gonter  turn  up,  an'  as 
fer  the  father  —  low  flung  debbil  —  he's  not 
likely  ter  be  hangin'  roun'  waitin'  fer  trouble." 

'  Well,  Mammy,  I  shall  have  to  think  about 
it.  I  can't  be  a  married  man  and  a  widower 
with  a  family  without  giving  it  some  thought. 
I  don't  like  to  pretend  to  be  something  I  am 
not." 

"  I'll  do  all  the  pertendin' !  All  you'll  have  ter 
do  will  be  jes'  keep  on  being  solemncholy,  jes' 
lak  you  is  when  women  folks  is  rouri'  anyhow, 
an'  I'll  do  all  the  lyin'.  I'll  gib  out  you  is  too 
hard  hit  ter  mention  yo'  trouble.  I'd  kinder  lak 
fer  you  ter  let  me  sew  a  black  ban'  roun'  yo'  coat 
sleeve  —  " 


Accepting  the  Mascot  35 

"  Never!  "  indignantly. 

"  Nebber  min' !  Nebber  min' !  "  was  the  old 
woman's  quick  and  tactful  rejoinder.  "  Lot's 
er  widder  men  don't  hold  ter  the  wearin'  of 
mournin',  an'  you  is  a  quiet  dresser  at  bes'  - 
not  lak  that  flashly  Mr.  Stanley  what  looks 
lak  he's  scairt  folks  won't  be  able  ter  see  him 
comin'  a  mile  off." 

"  Stanley!  That  reminds  me.  What  are 
you  going  to  say  to  Mr.  Stanley  and  Mr.  Peter 
Roche  if  I  decide  to  be  a  sorrowing  widower? " 

"  Tell  Mr.  Peter  the  truf  —  he's  the  kin'  ter 
keep  his  mouf  shet;  an'  as  fer  that  there  Stan 
ley —  he's  gone  fer  good.  Mr.  Peter  done 
in'mated  ter  him  he  was  a  cheater,  an'  he  done 
gone  off  'thout  settlin'  up.  I  reckon  he  owes 
you  money  'sides,"  she  said  shrewdly.  "  Ain't 
that  the  truf?" 

'  Well  —  a  —  yes,  so  he  does." 

"  He  done  flew  de  coop  —  sho's  you's  bawn. 
Now,  Doc  Andy,  you  jes'  glance  over  the  news 
paper  an'  then  maybe  you'd  bes'  step  lively  over 
ter  that  new  house  an'  see  the  cook.  She 
mought  die  'fo'  you  gits  thar  an'  you  wouldn't 
git  no  fee.  We  got  ter  git  ter  wuck  an'  git 
some  money  ter  git  some  goods  ter  make  up 
some  slips  fer  our  baby." 

Andy  smiled  and  took  the  morning  paper 


36          Mammy's  White  Folks 

which  she  handed  him.  He  was  glad  he  was 
to  keep  the  baby,  glad  the  sun  was  shining  and 
that  he  felt  so  clear  headed  and  alert,  glad  that 
after  so  many  months  he  was  to  have  a  pay 
patient.  The  call  might  lead  to  others.  A  kind 
of  elation  filled  his  soul.  He  felt  awake  and 
full  of  hope.  What  was  it?  Where  was  the 
sodden  helplessness  that  had  permeated  his 
being  of  late?  Was  this  a  hum-drum  day  like 
all  the  yesterdays  and  the  days  before  those 
yesterdays?  No!  A  thousand  times  no!  He 
did  not  feel  at  all  like  the  bereaved  young 
widower  that  Mammy  would  have  him  be; 
instead,  he  thought  perhaps  he  might  look  like 
some  of  the  insanely-happy,  newly-made  fathers 
whom  he  had  seen  on  his  professional  visits. 

The  baby  stirred  and  gave  vent  to  a  little 
whimper.  Mammy  immediately  took  it  up 
and  began  to  fondle  it. 

"Don'  you  cry,  my  candy  pie!  Don'  you 
cry  'til  yo'  daddy  takes  hisse'f  off." 

The  doctor  smiled  and  read  the  paper. 

"  Listen,  Mammy,  some  poor  girl  has  drowned 
herself  in  the  river  —  right  down  at  the  foot 
of  this  street  —  by  the  bridge  —  young  and 
pretty  —  no  clue  to  her  identity.  Evidently  a 
stranger."  He  read  the  account  of  the  suicide. 

The  baby  began  to  yell  lustily. 


Accepting  the  Mascot  37 

"  Go  on  an'  cry  yo'  fill,  po'  lil  lamb !  I 
reckon  it  war  yo  maw,  'caze  this  here  street 
am  the  closes'  to  the  riber,  an'  yo's  is  the  onlies' 
tears  what  is  bein'  shed  an'  I  ain't  a  gonter  stop 
'em.  Po'  critter!  Po'  critter!  Did  the  readin' 
say  she  had  long  goldin  hair,  Doc  Andy? " 

"  No,  it  doesn't  say." 

I  reckon  it  war  wet  an'  they  couldn't  tell, 
but  I'll  be  boun'  it  war  long  an'  goldin  an'  she 
had  a  trustin'  heart." 

She  rocked  the  baby  and  began  to  sing: 

"Bye  Baby  Buntin'! 
Daddy's  gone  a  huntin' 
Ter  git  a  little  rabbit  skin 
Ter  wrop  the  Baby  Buntin'  in." 

:c  Well,  good-bye,  Mammy !  I'll  go  and 
make  enough  to  buy  the  baby  a  petticoat  if 
the  cook  of  the  rich  man  has  not  passed  me 
up.  In  the  meantime,  please  don't  tell  anybody 
I'm  a  widower  and  a  father  until  I  talk  the 
matter  over  with  Mr.  Peter  Roche." 


Chapter  3 
WARM  WATER  AND  MUSTARD 

It  was  a  pleasant  sensation  to  be  making  a 
call  —  not  a  charity  one  —  even  though  it  was 
only  a  sick  cook.  No  doubt  the  Carleys  had 
their  own  family  physician  who  perhaps  was 
too  busy  or  too  superior  to  indulge  in  colored 
practice.  Andrew  Wallace  was  neither  busy 
nor  superior.  The  color  of  a  person  who  was 
sick  and  needed  his  care  made  no  difference  to 
him.  The  fact  that  he  could  administer  to  his 
or  her  welfare  was  the  only  thing  that  mattered 
to  the  young  physician. 

As  he  hurried  along  Garden  Street,  where  he 
had  chosen  to  cast  his  lot,  he  looked  with  some 
degree  of  interest  at  his  neighbors'  houses  for 
the  first  time  since  he  had  hung  out  his  shingle. 
He  now  viewed  them  as  the  abodes  of  possible 
future  patients  —  not  merely  as  the  habitations 
of  neighbors  who  were  to  be  avoided  as  persons 
who  might  look  askance  at  his  manner  of  life. 
He  had  feared  they  might  do  worse  than  look 
askance.  They  might  pester  him  with  invitations 
to  come  to  supper  and  expect  him  to  be  pleas- 

38 


Warm  Water  and  Mustard       39 

ant  to  their  daughters.  That  he  could  not  and 
would  not  do! 

The  thought  came  to  him  as  he  hurried  to  the 
relief  of  the  Carleys'  suffering  domestic  that 
now  that  he  was  about  to  become,  or  had 
become,  a  father,  his  child  would  feel  the  need 
of  neighbors.  He  would  have  to  be  more 
friendly  for  the  sake  of  the  infant. 

"  I  reckon  I  could  do  that  much  for  the  poor 
little  kid,"  he  muttered  as  he  turned  in  at  the 
Carleys'  gate. 

The  Carleys'  house  was  everything  the  old 
Grant  house  was  not,  and  nothing  that  it  was. 
From  every  pore  of  the  red  pressed  brick  of 
the  former  mansion,  there  breathed  prosperity 
and  down-to-dateness.  It  seemed  to  be  as 
determined  to  be  seen  as  the  old  Grant  house 
seemed  desirous  to  melt  into  its  surroundings. 
Every  window  and  door,  every  angle  of  the 
new  house,  was  accentuated  by  the  gleaming 
white  stone,  and  the  roof  of  the  would-be  Colonial 
porch  was  supported  by  pillars  of  an  enamelled 
whiteness  that  dazzled  the  eyes  of  the  beholder. 

"  God  forbid  that  I  should  ever  become  this 
prosperous!"  breathed  Dr.  Wallace  as  he  made 
his  way  along  the  uncompromising  concrete 
walk,  up  the  palatial  steps  and  touched  the 
electric  button  at  the  great  front  door. 


40          Mammy's  White  Folks 

Immediately  the  door  was  opened  by  a  pleas 
ant-looking-,  pink-faced  gentleman  in  a  tight 
grey  suit,  with  a  checked  apron  tied  around  his 
waist.  He  had  a  rose  in  his  button-hole  which 
struck  the  predominant  rote  of  his  ruddy  counte 
nance. 

"Dr.  Wallace!  Carley's  my  name  I  Glad  to 
see  you,  Doctor!  Glad  to  see  you!"  he  jerked 
out.  "  Cook  's  awful  bad  —  so  bad  that  I'm 
afraid  we'll  have  to  advertise  again.  Such  a 
time  as  we  do  have  with  servants!  This  one  is 
pretty  good,  and  has .  been  with  us  all  of  a 
month!  I  surely  do  hate  to  think  of  losing 
her." 

"  Perhaps  we  can  save  her,"  suggested  Dr. 
Wallace,  trying  to  hide  his  amusement. 

'  Well,  come  right  up  and  see,"  said  the  poor 
man.  :<  I  got  my  own  breakfast  this  morning, 
and  now  am  trying  to  fry  an  egg  for  my  wife. 
She  has  been  ailing,  too,  and  so  has  our  little 
girl,  Marian." 

Wallace's  instinct  was  to  ask  with  interest 
about  the  manner  of  ailment  that  had  attacked 
the  wife  and  child,  but  remembering  that  he 
had  been  called  in  only  to  see  the  cook,  he 
refrained. 

"  I  try  to  keep  three  servants,"  the  gentle 
man  of  the  house  continued  volubly  as  they 


mounted  the  back  stairs  leading  to  the  servants' 
quarters,  "  but  I  can't  keep  even  one." 

A  groan  was  the  only  response  when  they 
knocked  on  the  door.  The  doctor  entered  with 
out  further  ceremony.  The  room  was  in  total 
darkness.  The  shades  were  drawn,  blinds 
tightly  closed,  and  where  a  crack  of  spring  sun 
light  had  tried  to  find  its  way  into  the  room, 
the  groaning  creature  had  hung  up  a  strip  of 
carpet. 

The  atmosphere  was  so  thick  and  heavy  that  to 
call  it  air  was  a  misnomer.  Without  a  word 
Dr.  Wallace  raised  the  shades  and  opened  the 
windows  and  the  blinds.  The  breeze  came  in 
with  such  a  rush  that  for  a  moment  the  cook 
stopped  groaning  and  sat  up  in  bed. 

l<  Whe'fo'  you  done  that?  I's  too  sick  fer 
sich  doin's.  Shet  them  thar  winders ! " 

"That's  all  right,  cook!  I'm  not  going  to 
kill  you  with  air,  but  some  ventilation  is  neces 
sary.  Now  tell  me  what  your  trouble  is  —  but 
first  tell  me  your  name." 

The  woman,  who  was  a  mountain  of  flesh, 
looked  at  the  doctor  suspiciously  for  a  moment, 
but  encountering  his  pleasant  kindly  eyes  she 
heaved  a  great  sigh  and  sank  back  on  her  tick 
ing  pillows,  which  boasted  no  slips. 

"  My  name  am  Pearly.    I's  got  a  misery  all 


42          Mammy's  White  Folks 

over  —  eve'ywhar  but  my  haid  an'  my  laigs 
an*  my  back." 

"  Do  your  arms  hurt,  Pearly?  " 

"  No,  sir !  Thank  Gawd  my  arms  ain't 
a-hurtin  I " 

"Um-hum!  Just  where  is  the  pain?  Put 
your  hand  on  the  spot."  In  an  aside  to  Mr. 
Carley,  he  whispered:  "  Sometimes  we  have  to 
diagnose  by  elimination." 

"  De  seat  ob  my  misery  am  here,"  groaned 
the  poor  black  Pearly,  and  she  put  her  hand 
«n  the  apex  of  the  hemisphere. 

"And  what  have  you  eaten  for  breakfast?" 

"  I  ain't  et  no  brefkus.  I  been  a-wallowin 
in  torment  sence  'fo'  day." 

:<  Too  bad !  Now,  what  did  you  eat  for 
supper." 

"  I  et  some  crabs." 

"  Did  you  drink  much  water  with  the  crabs?  " 

"  I  never  drunked  no  water  a  tall.  I 
squinched  my  thu'st  wif  buttermilk.  I  ain't 
never  been  no  hearty  eater  but  I  is  sho'  fond 
er  buttermilk." 

Dr.  Wallace,  in  after  years,  often  laughed 
ever  the  fact  that  his  practice  was  built  on  gal 
lons  of  warm  water  with  a  generous  sprinkling 
®f  mustard. 

Pearly's  groans  ceased.     In  their  place  came 


Warm  Water  and  Mustard       43 

gentle  snores.  The  doctor  tip-toed  from  the 
room  and  crept  softly  down  the  back  stairs.  As 
he  sought  his  hat  in  the  front  hall  he  heard  a 
lazy  voice  issuing  from  the  library: 

"  Since  there  is  not  much  the  matter  with  the 
baby  and  me,  why  not  just  have  this  young 
doctor  for  us,  too?  It  would  be  so  much  less 
trouble  than  'phoning  for  that  other  doctor. 
Of  course,  if  we  were  very  sick  we  couldn't 
trust  him,  but  I  am  sure  there  is  nothing  serious 
the  matter  with  us.  You  say  he  understands 
what  is  the  matter  with  Pearly." 

"Just  as  you  say,  my  dear!  Of  course,  I 
would  do  the  'phoning  and  it  wouldn't  be  any 
trouble  for  you,"  came  in  Mr.  Carley's  brisk 
tones. 

"Well,  call  him  in!" 

Dr.  Wallace  gladly  would  have  escaped,  but 
before  he  could  reach  his  hat  the  energetic  Mr. 
Carley  had  captured  him. 

One  would  hardly  think  that  a  turning  point 
in  the  career  of  a  young  doctor  would  come 
about  through  the  fact  that  a  rosy  gentleman 
in  a  gingham  apron  pounced  on  him  and  com 
pelled  him  to  come  and  meet  his  wife  and  child 
and  cure  their  far  from  serious  ailments.  But 
turning  point  it  proved  in  the  career  of  Dr. 
Wallace. 


44          Mammy's  White  Folks 

News  soon  went  forth  that  the  richest  persons 
on  the  street  were  employing  the  young  physi 
cian,  and  in  short  order,  others  began  to  realize 
his  worth.  Pearly  was  loud  in  her  praises  of 
the  young  man,  and  Mrs.  Carley  declared  he 
understood  her  constitution  better  than  any 
doctor  she  ever  had  had.  His  fame  as  a  chil 
dren's  doctor  was  spread  abroad  because  of  his 
success  with  little  Marian.  Starting  as  a  poor 
young  man  with  no  practice,  he  soon  found 
himself  with  all  he  could  attend  to. 

Mr.  Carley  was  the  possessor  of  a  large  for 
tune  made  in  a  few  years  from  the  phenomenal 
sale  of  a  lotion  for  straightening  lanky  hair. 
He  was  a  kindly,  energetic  person  whose  one 
aim  in  life,  now  that  he  had  a  fortune,  was  to 
spoil  his  wife  by  giving  her  everything  she 
wanted.  But  what  she  wanted  principally  was 
to  be  waited  on,  and  servants  refused  to  stay 
with  her  for  any  length  of  time  —  this  in  spite  of 
the  fact  that  Mr.  Carley,  because  of  his  lotion, 
posed  as  a  benefactor  to  the  African  race. 


Chapter  4 
THE  WILY  GODMOTHER 

Big,  kindly,  silent  Peter  Roche  saw  no  reason 
why  his  friend  should  not  conform  to  Mammy's 
plans  if  he  chose. 

"  An  imaginary  dead  wife  is  the  only  kind 
you'll  ever  have,  and  if  it  will  help  out  the 
poor  little  kid  any,  why  not  be  a  sorrowing 
young  widower?  You  know  I'll  be  mum  for 
life." 

"  Of  course  I  can  depend  on  you,  but  how 
about  Stanley?" 

"  Gone  I  Gone  for  good  and  all !  Already 
collectors  are  trying  to  locate  him.  You  are 
not  the  only  man  he  owed.  I've  always  had  my 
doubts  about  Stanley,  and  I  was  almost  sure 
he  stacked  the  cards  on  us  in  that  last  game. 
If  it  had  not  been  for  a  strange  run  of  luck  that 
had  come  to  you,  he  would  have  won  that  big 
pot  and  gone  off  with  more  of  your  money." 

"  Mammy  says  the  baby  is  a  mascot  — '  mus 
cat  '  she  calls  it  —  and  my  luck  changed  from 
the  minute  she  was  placed  on  my  doorstep.  You 
remember  the  song  from  the  opera: 

45 


46          Mammy's  White  Folks 

*  These  messengers  that  Heaven  doth  send 
Are  known  as  mascots,  my  good  friend. 
Thrice  happy  he  unto  whose  home 
These  kindly  hearth-sprites  come.' 

And  do  you  know,  Peter,  it  looks  as  though 
there  might  be  something  in  the  old  woman's 
fancy.  Business  is  certainly  picking  up,  and  it 
isn't  charity  business  either." 

Business  was  picking  up.  Neighbors  and 
near-neighbors  suddenly  seemed  to  realize  that 
a  doctor,  a  very  good  doctor,  was  in  the  old 
Grant  house.  Gradually  it  leaked  out  that  he 
was  a  widower.  This  bit  of  information  spread 
through  Mammy.  Andrew  Wallace  was  never 
known  to  mention  his  dead  wife,  and  if  some 
over-zealous  sympathizer  would  try  to  question 
him  concerning  her,  he  would  simply  freeze  up. 

"  He  loved  her  so  he  can't  talk  about  her," 
would  be  the  verdict.  He  was  much  more 
inclined  to  expand  when  the  baby  was  the  topic 
of  conversation. 

Mammy  lived  up  to  her  theory  of  settling  on 
a  good  lie  and  sticking  to  it.  She  decided  that 
her  master's  dead  wife  was  named  Elizabeth 
Smith,  that  she  had  died  in  New  York  where 
she  was  born.  She  had  been  with  her  mother, 
and  expected  to  join  her  husband  after  the 


The  Wily  Godmother  47 

birth  of  the  baby.  She  had  died  in  child  birth, 
and  her  mother  had  died  soon  afterwards  of  a 
broken  heart.  She  had  no  other  relations.  Her 
master  was  so  deeply  attached  to  his  young  wife 
that  he  could  not  hear  her  name  mentioned 
without  pain. 

The  old  woman  told  the  tale  so  often  that  she 
almost  began  to  believe  it,  and  she  never  varied 
in  her  narrative. 

"  Looks  lak  I  kin  'member  what  didn't  hap 
pen  better'n  I  kin  what  did,"  she  would  say 
to  herself. 

To  make  the  deceit  she  was  practicing  irre 
vocable  and  thorough,  she  wrote  a  letter  to  her 
cousin  who  still  lived  near  the  Wallaces'  old 
home  in  Virginia,  mentioning  quite  casually  the 
death  of  Andy's  wife  and  the  fact  that  she  was 
raising  the  baby. 

'  What  if  Doc  Andy  ain't  got  no  kin  folks 
lef '  to  mention,  you  can't  never  tell  when  some 
body  what  knowed  you  onct  is  gonter  tu'n  up. 
I  ain't  a  gonter  have  'em  a  walkin'  in  on  us 
not  knowin'  nothin'  'bout  my  baby  lamb.  My 
cousin  Liza  Ann  is  the  talkin'es'  'oman  I  ever 
seed,  an*  when  she  ain't  a-sewin  roun',  she's  a 
mid-wifin'  roun',  an'  if  you  tell  her  a  piece  ci 
ne  ws,  it  spreads  lak  grease  on  a  hot  skillet," 
she  muttered  as  she  penned  the  epistle. 


48  Mammy's  White  Folks 

When  Mammy  wrote  a  letter,  it  was  a  serious 
matter,  especially  when  she  did  not  have  the 
assistance  of  her  master  in  "  backin'  the  Velope." 
She  was  sure  that  Andy  would  object  quite 
seriously  to  this  move  on  her  part,  but  she  was 
determined,  while  she  was  lying,  to  lie  as  well 
as  the  devil  himself* 

"  I  been  a  tellin'  the  truf  all  my  life,  an'  now 
I'm  a-gotter  lie  an'  make  it  soun'  lak  the  truf. 
I  knows  how  the  truf  ought  ter  soun'.  I'm 
a-doin'  it  all  fer  my  baby,  an'  the  good  Gawd 
ain't  a-gonter  hoi'  it  aginst  me." 

So  casually  did  she  mention  the  death  of  Mrs. 
Andrew  Wallace  to  Liza  Ann  that  the  neigh 
borhood  newsmonger  was  entirely  taken  in. 
The  fact  that  she  had  not  heard  of  Dr.  Wal 
lace's  marriage  was  immediately  forgotten  as 
she  went  on  her  rounds  rapidly  spreading  the 
news  of  the  motherless  baby. 

The  bereaved  husband  was  at  a  loss  whether 
to  laugh  or  swear  when  he  received  several  let 
ters  of  condolence  from  some  of  his  father's  old 
friends  and  neighbors. 

"  I  wish  you  had  thought  of  some  other 
way,  Mammy,"  he  said.  A  package  had  come 
from  an  old  lady  who  had  known  his  mother. 
In  it  were  knitted  socks  and  a  sacque  for  the 
baby. 


The  Wily  Godmother  49 

Other  gifts  came,  from  old  friends  and 
neighbors  —  rattles,  afghans  and  caps.  It 
looked  as  though  the  people  of  his  county  felt 
that  they  had  inadvertently  neglected  his  wife 
while  she  was  alive  and  were  trying  to  make 
up  for  it  now  by  showering  gifts  on  her  baby. 

An  invitation  came  to  bring  his  baby  back 
home  on  &  visit. 

"Just  look  at  this,  Mammy!  I  feel  like  a 
fool." 

"  Well,  I  feel  lak  I  done  larned  how  ter  tell 
a  moughty  straight  lie.  Some  day  you  kin 
take  the  baby  an'  me  on  a  trip  home.  I'd  be 
pow'ful  glad  ter  git  back  fer  a  spell,  an'  the 
folks  in  our  county  would  be  moughty  nice  ter 
our  hi  baby  lamb." 

"  Mammy,  there  is  no  shame  in  you." 

"  Shame!  No,  I's  as  proud  as  a  peacock, 
an'  ev'ything  is  a  turnin'  out  ter  suit  me." 
She  didn't  tell  Dr.  Wallace  that  she  had  writ 
ten  another  letter  to  Liza  Ann  telling  her  that 
the  baby  resembled  her  mother  in  that  she  had 
brown  eyes  and  golden  hair. 

The  brown  in  the  baby's  eyes  had  begun  to 
assert  itself  more  and  more,  and  to  Mammy's 
delight  the  almost  imperceptible  fuzziness  on 
the  round  little  head  was  turning  into  red-gold 
duck  tails. 


50          Mammy's  White  Folks 

"What  I  tell  yer?  Ain't  she  the  putties' 
angel  outer  heaben? " 

A  name  must  be  found  for  the  baby,  but 
what  name  would  be  appropriate?  Dr.  Wal 
lace  and  Mammy  called  in  Peter  to  advise  with 
them. 

"  We  don't  want  no  common  name  lak  Jane 
an'  Susan  an'  sich.  This  here  ain't  no  common 
baby  if  she  do  sleep  in  a  trunk  tray.  Uncom 
mon  folks  is  slep'  in  worse  than  that  'fo'  this." 

"  How  about  Theodora? "  suggested  Peter, 
who  was  poring  over  the  appendix  in  the  big 
dictionary  trying  to  find  something  to  suit 
Mammy's  fancy.  "  It  means  the  gift  of  God." 

"  That's  too  mouf-fillin',  an'  ifn  we  cut  it 
short,  we'll  be  a  callin'  the  lamb  Dora,  an'  that 
soun's  too  nigrified  to  my  min'.  Ain't  they 
some  kinder  name  what  means  good  luck?  I 
been  always  a  favorin'  the  name  er  Grace 
somehow,  but  it  sho  is  hard  on  a  gal  ter  name 
her  Grace  an*  then  whin  she  grows  up  fer  her 
ter  tu'n  out  ter  be  fat." 

"  Esther  means  a  star  and  also  happiness," 
Peter  read  from  the  dictionary. 

"  Esther  is  a  beautiful  name,  I  think,"  put 
in  the  foster  father. 

*  Yes,  an*  it  war  the  name  of  yo'  maw's 
aunt  what  died  jes'  'fo'  she  war  to  be  married.  I 


The  Wily  Godmother  51 

kin  jes'  'member  her.  She  war  sho  some  putty 
lady.  Le's  name  her  Esther,  Doc  Andy!" 

So  Esther  it  was.  Peter  was  asked  to  be 
godfather,  and  for.  Wallace  insisted  that 
Mammy  should  stand  as  godmother.  The 
baby  was  christened  in  due  form,  and  then 
Mammy  was  sure  that  the  good  Lord  was 
approving  of  her  deceit  since  He,  in  a  meas 
ure,  had  connived  at  it.  At  least  He  had  per 
mitted  his  representative,  the  young  minister, 
to  make  the  sign  of  the  cross  on  Esther's 
forehead,  and  when  the  water  was  sprinkled 
on  her  head,  she  had  laughed  instead  of  crying, 
which  is  a  baby's  usual  method  of  being  received 
into  the  church.  Mammy  took  this  as  just  one 
more  good  omen  for  her  charge,  and  when, 
added  to  that,  the  sun  came  out  at  the  crucial 
moment,  peeping  through  the  stained  glass 
window  of  the  church  and  pouring  all  the 
colors  of  the  rainbow  on  the  little  form  of  the 
unconscious  sinner,  who  through  Peter  and 
Mammy  had  just  renounced  the  World,  the 
Flesh  and  the  Devil,  Mammy  was  sure  that 
not  only  was  the  baby's  soul  saved  but  also  her 
own. 

On  the  strength  of  her  certain  salvation  she 
indited  another  epistle  to  her  cousin,  Liza  Ann, 
announcing  that  the  baby  had  been  christened 


52          Mammy's  White  Folks 

Esther  and  calling  to  mind  the  beauty  and 
charm  of  Andy's  great-aunt  Esther,  who  had 
died  on  the  eve  of  her  wedding.  She  did  not 
say  in  so  many  words  that  the  baby  was  named  for 
the  great-aunt,  but  Liza  Ann  was  left  to  draw 
her  own  conclusions,  which  she  did  to  the  entire 
satisfaction  of  the  wily  godmother,  and  Mammy 
felt  that  it  had  not  been  in  vain  that  she  had 
spent  those  weary,  head-splitting,  back-breaking 
hours  with  Ol'  Miss  trying  to  learn  how  to  read 
and  write. 

"  I's  a  po'  reader  an'  a  wuss  writer,  but 
Gawd  be  praised,  I  larned  enough  whin  I  was 
a  gal  ter  spread  this  here  lie  an'  'stablish  some 
kind  er  fambly  'lations  fer  my  baby.  She 
got  a  pedlegree  back  yonder  in  Virginia,  thanks 
ter  her  ol'  Mammy." 


Chapter  5 
MAMMY  GETS  A  SURPRISE 

Mammy  had  not  had  the  care  of  a  child 
since  Andrew  Wallace  was  a  baby,  but  her 
hand  had  lost  none  of  its  cunning.  It  was 
a  wonderful  sight  when  she  bathed  and  cared 
for  little  Esther.  Her  old  hands  seemed  to 
be  as  soft  as  velvet,  and  the  skill  with  which 
she  took  off  and  put  on  baby  clothes  was 
marvelous.  Dr.  Wallace  never  tired  of  watch 
ing  her. 

The  sacred  rite  of  bathing  the  baby  was 
performed  every  morning  in  the  kitchen,  and 
the  old  woman  would  have  been  much  offended 
if  he  were  absent.  But  the  young  man  did  not 
choose  to  be  absent.  Had  Mammy's  wild  tale  of 
his  dead  wife,  Elizabeth,  been  gospel  truth, 
and  had  the  baby  been  really  his  own,  he  could 
not  have  loved  her  more.  No  father  could 
have  watched  the  daily  improvement  in  his 
child  with  more  interest  and  concern  than  did 
Dr.  Wallace  in  this  little  foundling.  How 
beautifully  formed  she  was!  How  strong  and 
straight  were  the  little  limbs  and  back!  How 

53 


54  Mammy's  White  Folks 

she  thrived  and  fattened!  Great  was  their  joy 
when  creases  were  discovered  around  the  plump 
wrists  and  ankles,  and  Venus  rings  appeared 
around  the  neck!  The  old  woman  and  the 
young  man  watched  for  dimples  as  astronomers 
might  search  the  heavens  for  new  stars,  and 
dimples  were  always  appearing,  now  one  on  the 
left  elbow,  now  a  pair  on  the  shoulder  blades. 

"  She's  the  putties'  gal  baby  I's  ever  seed," 
Mammy  declared.  '  'Cose,  I's  allus  been  par- 
tiam  ter  boy  babies,  an'  if  I  do  say  it  as 
shouldn't,  bein'  as  I's  yo'  black  mammy,  you 
was  the  fattes',  elites',  sweetes'  baby  ever  bawn. 
Dimples!  Lawd  love  us,  Doc  Andy,  but  you 
was  peppered  as  thick  wif  'em  as  a  mock- 
orange." 

"  Spare  me,  Mammy!  Spare  my  blushes! 
Isn't  this  the  day  to  weigh  her? " 

"  Sho  it  is!  "  and  then  they  solemnly  got  out 
the  sugar  scale,  which  Mammy  said  was  the 
only  kind  to  weigh  such  a  lump  of  sweetness 
on.  And  when  the  gain  was  considerably  over 
the  previous  week,  their  joy  knew  no  bounds. 

It  was  a  beautiful  morning  in  June.  The 
bath  was  over,  the  paraphernalia  incident  to 
the  rite  picked  up  and  put  away,  the  doctor 
out  on  his  rounds,  and  the  baby  fed  and  peace 
fully  sleeping  on  the  shady  back  porch. 


Mammy  Gets  a  Surprise         55 

"  Now,  old  woman,  you'd  bes'  be  shakin' 
yo'se'f,"  said  Mammy.  Mammy  had  a  way 
of  talking  to  herself  when  she  was  alone. 
Sometimes  she  would  hold  such  animated  con 
versations  that  one  would  have  sworn  she  had 
company.  Andrew  Wallace  often  amused  him 
self  listening  to  her  as  her  voice  came  from 
another  room.  She  would  employ  two  distinct 
tones  of  voice,  one  a  high  querulous  one,  and 
the  other  her  own  natural,  soft,  deep  drawl. 

"  Shake  yo'se'f,  shake  yo'se'f ! "  came  the 
querulous  note. 

"  Ain't  I  been  a  stirrin'  sence  'fo'  day?  " 

'  Yes,  but  you  ain't  done  nothin'  —  nothin* 
so's  you  kin  notice  it,  but  jes'  a  playin'  wif 
that  there  doll  baby.  Look  at  the  winders  in 
Doc  lAndy's  office!  Look  at  'em,  I  say!  You 
cyarn't  look  thu  'em  fer  the  dirt.  Look  at  the 
silber!  Looks  lak  pewter  fer  the  need  er  a  lil 
rubbin'.  Look  at  that  ther  pile  er  darnin'! 
Holes  so  big  Doc  Andy  won't  know  which 
er  way  ter  put  on  his  socks.  Hump  yo'se'f, 
nigger!  Hump  yo'se'f!" 

"  Well,  I'm  a  movin'  fast  as  I  kin,"  answered 
the  complaining  voice.  ;<  Th'ain't  but  one  er 
me.  There's  that  phome  a  ringin'  1 " 

Mammy  had  never  been  able  to  distinguish 
the  xbells  in  the  house.  Usually  she  gave  the 


56  Mammy's  White  Folks 

telephone  the  benefit  of  the  doubt  and  tried 
that  first.  She  would  take  down  the  receiver 
and  then,  in  dead  silence,  sit  like  one  who  was 
receiving  an  electric  shock.  Finally  she  would 
mutter  a  faint: 

<5Lo!"  in  a  whisper.  Her  tone  was  so 
indescribably  mournful  that  the  one  at  the 
other  end  of  the  wire,  if  there  happened  to  be 
one  left  after  the  long  silence,  would  feel  that 
something  sinister  and  terrible  must  have  hap 
pened  at  Dr.  Wallace's.  Peter  Roche,  who 
sometimes  had  occasion  to  telephone  his  friend, 
used  to  say  that  it  reminded  him  of  fishing  for 
catfish.  You  would  feel  a  nibble,  wait 
patiently,  feel  another,  and,  encouraged,  pull 
in,  to  find  nothing  on  the  end  of  your  line. 

"  Lo ! "  Mammy  repeated.  "  I  «?  \'t  a- 
wantin*  no  number  —  I's  a  answerin'  **' -Q  phome 
—  you  done  ranged  me  up  —  I'll  -jouse  you 
this  time,  but  I's  pow'ful  busy  ter  be  a  answerin' 
phonies  jes'  fer  fun."  She  put  up  the  receiver 
with  a  jerk. 

"  I  wisht  there  wa'n't  no  sich  a  thing  as 
phonies!"  declared  the  whiny  voice. 

"How  you  gonter  git  the  doctor  in  a  hurry 
'thout  no  phome? " 

"  Sen'  a  nigger  on  a  mule,  lak  OF  Miss  an' 
her  mother  befo'  her  done.  Gib  the  callerinile 


Mammy  Gets  a  Surprise         57 

in  the  fus'  beginning  —  no  use  in  a-waitin'  fer 
the  doctor  —  an'  then  sen*  a  nigger  on  a  mule." 

Again  a  bell,  this  time  quite  loud  and  angry 
in  its  jingling!  Mammy  took  down  the  receiver 
with  resignation. 

"Lo!"  in  her  cat-fish  nibbling  manner. 

"  What  number? "  briskly  from  central. 

"Great  Gawd!  It  mus*  er  been  the  front 
do' ! "  She  dropped  the  receiver  and  hastened 
to  the  front  of  the  house.  No  one  at  the  front 
but  a  brisk  knocking  at  the  back  door. 

'  You  ol*  fool  nigger ! "  she  cried,  going  to 
the  kitchen  door  which  stood  hospitably  open. 

On  the  back  porch  was  a  young  woman  hold 
ing  a  little  girl  by  the  hand. 

"  I  rang  the  door  bell  repeatedly."  The 
tone  was  a  little  sharp. 

'  You  mus'  'scuse  me,  lady,  but  I  gits  so 
imfused  over  bells.  I  cyarn't  fer  the  life  er 
me  tell  whicht  is  whicht.  I  thought  you  was 
the  phome.  Won't  you  come  in  an'  set  a 
spell?  Doc  Andy,  I  mean  Doc  Wallace,  is 
jes'  stepped  out  ter  see  the  sick  an'  sufferin', 
but  he'll  be  back  'fo'  so  long." 

Mammy  thought  the  young  woman  and  her 
child  were  patients,  and  she  was  determined  not 
to  let  them  escape  the  doctor.  To  be  sure, 
they  might  be  charity  patients,  and  she  was 


58          Mammy's  White  Folks 

not  encouraging  that  class  too  much,  as  she 
felt  her  master  was  inclined  to  do  for  them 
and  neglect  the  more  profitable  kind.  The 
mother  had  rather  too  much  dignity  in  her 
bearing  to  be  seeking  charity,  and  both  mother 
and  child  were  well,  although  simply,  dressed. 
'  You  kin  go  in  the  office  an'  set,  or  you 
kin  jes*  res'  yo'se'f  out  here  on  the  po'ch.  I 
ain't  ter  say  spruced  up  the  office  yit  'cause 
I'se  been  so  took  up  wif  the  baby." 
'  We  can  wait  here  just  as  well." 

Mammy  hastily  got  a  chair  for  the  mother 
and  put  a  stool  for  the  little  girl. 

"  Moughty  putty  lil  chil' !  How  ol'  is  you, 
honey?  " 

"  Free !  "  The  child  spoke  in  a  singularly 
independent,  dignified  way  in  spite  of  her  baby 
talk. 

'  Well,  you  is  moughty  smart  fer  yo'  age. 
My  baby,  sleepin'  in  de  buggy  yonder,  ain't  but 
free  months  old.  She  is  smart,  too."  Mammy 
was  longing  to  show  off  the  baby,  but  the  visi 
tor  expressed  no  interest  at  all  in  the  little 
thing.  Her  manner  was  preoccupied,  and  even 
praise  of  her  own  child  did  not  draw  a  smile 
from  her. 

'  When  will  Dr.  Wallace  return? "  she  asked, 
coldly. 


Mammy  Gets  a  Surprise         59 

<k  I  ain't  ter  say  sho  that  he'll  be  back  fer 
some  time.  They's  a  heap  er  sickness  jes' 
now,  an'  looks  lak  folks  is  plum  determined 
ter  hab  Doc  Andy,"  said  Mammy,  proudly. 
"  Is  you  a-wantin'  ter  see  Doc  Andy  per- 
feshumly?  Whicht  er  yo'  is  ailin'?" 

"  Neither.  I  merely  want  to  see  him  on 
business." 

'  Well,  then,  lady,  I  reckon  you'd  bes'  come 
back,  'cause  he  ain't  li'ble  ter  be  home  'fo' 
dinner."  Mammy's  interest  in  the  visitor  was 
waning. 

4  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  so  sooner?  "  The 
tone  was  certainly  sharp.  Mammy  looked  at 
her  in  surprise.  She  was  a  very  pretty  young 
woman  to  have  such  a  cold,  hard  voice. 

"  I  ain't  never  held  out  no  hopes  he  would 
be  in  soon." 

The  woman  arose  to  go  but  seemed  to  be 
undecided.  She  seated  herself  again,  and  in 
a  more  friendly  voice  said: 

'  You  have  been  with  Dr.  Wallace  for  some 
time,  auntie?  " 

"  Eber  sence  he  wa'  bawn,  'ceptin,  er  co'se, 
whin  he  wa'  off  ter  college  an'  studyin'  in 
hospitals." 

"  Oh,  then,  perhaps  you  can  tell  me  of  some 
of  his  friends.  Have  you  ever  happened  to 


60          Mammy's  White  Folks 

see  a  Mr.  Stanley  when  he  has  caBed  here?" 
"  Stanley !  Lawd  love  you,  lady,  I  should 
say  I  is!  Why  he  jes'  lef  here  'bout  free 
months  ago.  I  reckon  he  ain't  a  oeber  gonter 
come  back  neither,  'cause  he  went  off  in  sech 
a  hurry  a  owin'  money  ter  Doc  Andy  —  money 
what  he  done  borrowed  'sides  money  what  he 
done  los'  at  cyards.  We  alls  don't  know  whar 
he.  Mr.  Peter,  he  say  he  gone  fer  good.  An' 
I  hope  it's  so.  That  Stanley  wa'  a  bad  man ! " 
"  Don't  you  dare  to  say  that  about  my 
farverl "  The  little  girl  stood  before  Mammy 
with  blazing  eyes.  "  You  are  a  bad  old  nigger 
and  I  hate  you  1 " 

'  Yo'  father!  Lawd  'a  mussy,  lady,  I  didn't 
know  you  wa'  Mr.  Stanley's  wife  whin  I  spoke 
up  so.  You  mus'  'sense  me,  lady,  an*  you, 
you  po'  lil  chiT,  we  ain't  none  of  us  knowed 
he  wa'  eben  married.  He  ain't  nebber  said 
so.  I  done  heard  him  —  but  nebber  min'  what 
I  done  heard  —  I  is  a  fool  ol'  nigger  an'  I  is 
a  bad  ol'  nigger.  I  wisht  you  would  come  in 
an*  wait  ter  see  Doc  Andy.  Maybe  you  would 
take  a  bite  ter  eat  or  a  cup  er  tea  er  sompen. 
Gawd  knows,  lady,  I  wouldn't  er  said  nothin' 
ter  hurt  you  or  yo'  lil  chil'  fer  nothin'  on 
Gawd's  green  yearth.  Now,  won't  you  come 
in  an'  res'  yo'se'f  a  spell?" 


f     • 
Mammy  Gets  a  Surprise         61 

"No,  I  must  go.    Come,  Lucy!'* 

The  voice  was  not  quite  so  hard  now  but 
it  was  decidedly  weary. 

"  Jes*  a  mug1  er  milk  f  er  yo'  lil  chil' !  Don't 
you  want  some  milk,  honey?  Mammy  didn't 
mean  ter  hurt  yo'  feelin's,  an'  she  thinks  you 
is  a  fine  lil  baby  ter  be  a  standin'  up  fer  yo' 
paw  the  way  rou  done." 

The  old  won-an's  voice  was  so  appealing  and 
her  manner  so  conciliatory  that  Lucy  was  pre 
vailed  upon  to  drink  the  milk,  but  the  mother 
would  not  wait  for  a  cup  of  tea.  Without  a 
word  of  thanks  to  poor  Mammy,  who  was  in 
abject  misery  over  having  hurt  their  feelings, 
the  visitors  departed. 

"  Ain't  eben  said  '  peep  turkey '  'bout  my 
baby,  neither,"  she  grumbled. 

'  Wlie'fo'  they  gonter  say  '  peep  turkey '  ter 
you  arfter  you  done  'suited  um? " 

"Th'ain't  said  nothin'  'fo'  I  'suited  um. 
They  had  plenty  er  chanct  ter  notice  lil  Esther 
'fo'  I  done  rip  out  'bout  that  there  Stanley. 
He  is  sho  a  bad  aig,  but  his  wife  ain't  got  the 
innards  ter  be  a  bad  aig.  I  reckon  we  done 
see  the  las'  er  her  too.  I  hope  so!  Doc  Andy 
is  got  all  he  kin  do  ter  make  a  libin  fer  us  all 
'thout  lendin'  any  mo  money  ter  these  here 
Stanleys." 


Chapter  6 
JUSTIFYING  A  LIE 

"  Tell  me  something  more  about  my  mother, 
Mammy.  Tell  me  everything  all  over  —  all 
about  her  long  golden  hair  and  her  blue,  blue 
eyes  —  how  she  walked  and  how  she  talked  and 
how  she  laughed.  I  just  know  she  laughed  like 
music,  didn't  she,  Mammy? " 

"  Yes,  child,  she  larfed  an'  it  soun'  lak  lil 
streams  er  water  a-running  over  pebbles." 

"  And  her  hair,  was  it  very,  very  long? " 

*  Yes,  honey,  so  long  she  could  set  on  it,  an' 
it  waved  from  the  roots  clean  down  ter  the  en's. 
It  wa'  gol',  pure  gol',  an'  the  ripples  in  it  useter 
'min'  me  or  the  win'  a-blowin  over  ripe  wheat." 

'*  Was  it  as  long  as  RapunzeFs?  " 

"Who  dat?" 

"  Now,  Mammy,  you  remember  the  girl  in 
the  fairy  story  I  read  you  the  other  day  who 
let  down  her  hair  so  her  lover  could  hang  on  to 
it  and  climb  in  the  window." 

"  Oh,  that  there  gal  what  wa'  named  some 
kinder  Dutch  name  what  meant  turnip  salad! 
I  'member  her  well  enough." 

62 


Justifying  a  Lie  63 

"  She  must  have  loved  him  a  whole  lot, 
Mammy  —  more  than  tongue  can  tell  —  to  let 
him  hurt  her  so  bad.  I  know  it  hurt  because 
I  let  my  kitty  climb  up  my  plait  once  just  to 
see  how  it  felt,  and  it  pulled  until  I  had  to  cry. 
Of  course  a  lover  would  be  heavier  than  a  kitten 
and  he  would  hurt  even  more,  but  maybe  you 
would  love  a  lover  so  much  more  than  a  kitten 
that  you  wouldn't  mind.  Do  you  reckon  my 
mother  loved  my  father  enough  to  let  him  pull 
her  hair  that  hard,  Mammy?  " 

"  Yes,  chil',  I's  sho  she  did."  Mammy  looked 
very  solemn  when  she  made  this  assertion. 

"But  he  loved  her  too  much  to  hurt  her, 
didn't  he,  Mammy? " 

"  Er  —  er  —  yes,  sho,  sho !  " 

"  Mammy,  it  seems  so  strange  that  nobody 
has  a  picture  of  my  mother.  I  have  tried  and 
tried  to  make  a  picture  of  her  but  I  make  such 
poor  noses.  I  do  wish  Daddy  could  talk  about 
her  to  me.  Was  her  nose  like  mine? " 

'  Well  —  er  —  kinder  lak  yo's,  an'  kinder 
mo'  growed  up  lak.  Now,  honey  chil',  why 
don't  you  run  out  an'  play?  Mammy's  gonter 
bake  you  a  lil  cake  an'  if  you  keeps  on  a  talkin' 
she  cyarn't  git  to  it.  The  chilluns  is  a  callin' 
you  ter  come  and  skate,  but  don't  you  let  none 
er  them  roll  over  you." 


64          Mammy's  White  Folks 

"  All  right,  Mammy!  But  save  me  some  raw 
cake  batter —  I  just  love  it!  " 

Esther  was  off  like  a  breeze.  Mammy 
watched  her  until  she  was  out  of  sight,  her  old 
brown  face  working  with  emotion.  Ten  years 
had  passed  since  that  windy,  rainy  night  in 
March  when  the  blue-serge  jacket  with  its 
precious  inclosure  had  been  left  on  Dr.  Wal 
lace's  door-step.  What  years  they  had  been! 
Mammy  -looked  back  on  them  with  extreme 
satisfaction.  From  the  moment  the  baby  had 
been  taken  out  of  the  wet,  the  whole  tenor  of 
Dr.  Wallace's  life  had  changed.  The  respon 
sibilities  of  being  a  father  and  a  widower  had 
brought  him  to  a  realization  of  his  frivolous 
mode  of  living  and  had  created  the  desire  in  him 
to  be  the  man  his  youth  had  promised.  The 
public  had  assisted  him  in  his  endeavor  by  being 
sick  and  by  calling  on  him  to  heal  it.  His  prac 
tice,  like  the  beanstalk  in  the  story  Esther  loved 
to  hear  him  tell,  grew  and  grew  —  over  night, 
as  it  were.  Had  he  still  wanted  to  spend  his 
time  in  riotous  living,  he  would  not  have  been 
allowed  to  do  so  by  the  patients  who  flocked  to  his 
door.  They  seemed  now  to  have  no  trouble  in 
finding  the  doctor's  modest  sign  that  was  hung 
in  rather  than  out. 

The    undesirable    acquaintances    he   had    ac- 


Justifying  a  Lie  65 

quired,  on  first  coming  to  that  southern  town 
to  settle,  gradually  dropped  out  of  his  life  as 
completely  as  Stanley  had.  Faithful,  silent 
Peter  Roche  remained,  and  was  a  frequent  vis 
itor  at  the  old  Grant  house,  where  he  was  ever 
warmly  welcomed  by  Mammy  and  Esther  as 
well  as  the  doctor. 

Esther  could  not  help  loving  Peter.  He  was 
an  ever-ready  playmate  and  listener. 

And  Peter  had  to  listen  to  many  confidences 
when  he  made  his  visits  to  the  Wallace  house 
hold.  Esther  saved  up  all  her  joys  and  sorrows 
for  him.  The  doctor  must  tell  him  of  Esther's 
many  perfections,  of  her  beauty  and  charm,  her 
wit  and  cleverness,  her  loving  heart  and  cheer 
ful  disposition,  her  artistic  talent  and  ready 
understanding  of  the  best  in  poetry.  Mammy 
must  hold  forth  in  like  manner.  The  old 
woman  was  sure  that  her  baby  child  was  the 
best  and  most  beautiful  baby  child  in  the  whole 
world.  No  longer  did  she  insist  that  the  little 
Andy  had  been  the  cutest,  sweetest,  most  dim 
pled  person  possible.  The  child  Andy  had  a 
rival  in  the  child  Esther. 

"  Jes'  look  at  her  when  she's  a  skatin'  wif 
the  chillun  on  the  block!  They's  all  dirt  beside 
her.  Look  how  she  hoi'  her  haid!  Look  how 
she  skims  along  on  them  roller  skates.  She's 


66          Mammy's  White  Folks 

jes'  as  much  at  home  on  them  as  a  buzzard  is 
up  in  the  ar." 

Truly  the  little  waif  had  repaid  her  bene 
factors  a  million  times  over.  In  the  first  place 
she  had  proved  from  the  beginning  to  be  a 
perfectly  healthy,  normal  child.  Her  teeth  had 
come  in  when  they  should  have  done  so,  and  at 
the  prescribed  age  she  had  lost  them,  thereby 
presenting  a  snaggled  tooth  smile  that  Mammy 
and  Dr.  Wallace  thought  most  engaging.  The 
so-called  children's  diseases  passed  her  by. 
When  all  the  children  on  the  block  were  in  the 
throes  of  whooping  cough,  and  the  schools  were 
full  of  it,  little  Esther  seemed  to  be  immune. 
Measles  and  chicken-pox  would  none  of  her. 
She  did  not  even  catch  colds. 

"  She  ain't  no  contagious  baby,  that's  sho!  " 
Mammy  declared  proudly.  "  She's  a  good-luck 
baby!" 

Esther  was  not  perfect  by  any  means, 
although  those  who  loved  her  insisted  she  was. 
She  had  a  quick  temper  of  her  own,  was  lazy 
about  her  lessons,  and  far  from  tidy.  Her 
temper,  like  most  gusty  ones,  soon  blew  itself 
out.  And  fairy  stories  were  so  much  more 
interesting  than  long  division  that  one  could 
hardly  blame  her  for  preferring  to  curl  up  on 
the  sofa  with  Hans  Andersen  rather  than  to 


Justifying  a  Lie  67 

work  silly  examples  that  got  one  nowhere,  or 
if  they  did,  were  of  no  earthly  good  when  they 
did  get  one  there.  The  doctor  wondered  what 
she  would  do  when  she  came  to  fractions  and 
decimals  if  she  could  not  grasp  long  division; 
and,  later  on,  algebra  and  geometry  would  have 
to  be  grappled  with. 

"  Th'ain't  no  use  in  worryin',  Doc  Andy, 
'cause  she's  a  larnin  a  lil  bit  ev'y  day.  Time 
was  whin  two  didn't  mean  no  mo'  ter  her  than 
one,  an'  then  'fo'  you  knowed  it  she  war  a  addin' 
an'  'stractin'  as  putty  as  you  please.  I  ain't 
studyin'  none  bout  rithmutics.  They  kin  keep 
keer  er  theyselves.  What  I'm  a  botherin'  my 
haid  over  is  her  keerlessness  'bout  her  things.  I 
kin  straighten  her  bureau  an'  closet  ev'y  day, 
an'  ev'y  day  she  kin  stir  'em  up  jes'  same  as  ifn 
she  wa'  a  makin'  batter  bread.  Rithmutics 
ain't  no  good  ter  a  gal  'cep'  jes'  ter  keep  from 
gittin'  short-changed,  but  keepin'  her  clothes 
neat  an'  nice  an'  bein'  tidy  is  larnin'  she'll  have 
ter  use  ev'y  day  of  her  life." 

"  Maybe  you  spoil  her,  Mammy.  If  you  did 
not  do  it  for  her,  perhaps  she  would  learn  to  do 
it  for  herself." 

'  Yessir,  an'  I  reckon  if  you  wa'n't  allus  a 
helpin'  her  with  her  sums,  she'd  larn  herself, 
too." 


68          Mammy's  White  Folks 

The  old  woman  and  her  master  were  con 
stantly  playfully  accusing  each  other  of  spoil 
ing  the  child.  Sometimes  it  got  to  be  in  earnest 
when  Esther  developed  some  unforeseen  trait. 
Dr.  Wallace  was  sure  it  was  due  to  Mammy's 
indulgence  of  her  charge,  while  the  negress  was 
certain  the  foster  father  was  responsible.  Some 
times  she  even  harked  back  to  failings  in  his 
family  and  freely  intimated  that  the  child  had 
inherited  a  tendency  from  some  dimly-remem 
bered  ancestor. 

Once  the  little  thing  had  played  truant  from 
school  for  several  days.  It  was  during  the 
measles  epidemic  and  the  teacher,  taking  it  for 
granted  the  disease  had  attacked  the  doctor's 
daughter,  had  not  looked  up  the  absent  one  as 
was  her  custom.  Finally,  when  Esther's  perfidy 
came  to  light  and  it  was  discovered  she  had 
spent  the  week  at  the  public  library  delightfully 
and  profitably  employed  in  reading  the  Arabian 
Nights,  Mammy  had  exclaimed: 

"  Jes*  lak  yo'  paw,  Doc  Andy!  Marse  Bob 
Wallace  was  eternally  stealin'  off  an'  goin' 
feeshin'  when  Ol'  Miss  thought  he  wa'  safe  at 
school.  She  useter  say  he  nebber  would  git 
eddicated,  an'  lowed  I  lamed  farster  'an  what 
he  done,  'ceptin'  I  nebber  could  go  but  jes*  so 
fur,  whilst  Marse  Bob  all  of  a  suddent  knowed 


Justifying  a  Lie  69 

it  all.     Lil  Esther  is  gonter  be  jes'  'zactly  lak 
him." 

The  doctor  smiled  grimly.  Sometimes 
Mammy  seemed  to  fool  herself  completely  into 
believing  that  Esther  had  a  perfect  right  to 
inherit  his  family's  characteristics.  She  had  told 
her  tale  so  often  when  the  baby  was  first  left  to 
their  tender  mercies,  and  afterwards  had  been 
forced  by  the  little  .girl  to  repeat  it  over  and 
over  to  her  so  often  that  now  it  seemed  to  be 
something  that  had  really  happened.  Only 
when  the  child  demanded  a  picture  of  her  dead 
mother,  or  details  of  the  wedding,  or  the  exact 
location  of  her  grave,  was  Mammy  stumped. 

But  never  did  the  old  woman  regret  the 
deception  she  had  practiced,  and  as  Esther  got 
older,  making  more  and  more  friends,  she  would 
rejoice  in  the  fact  that  her  baby  could  hold  up 
her  head  ivith  the  best  of  them.  Esther  had  a 
real  talent  for  making  friends.  She  was  hand 
in  glove  with  the  ash  man  and  the  ice  man  and 
the  man  who  delivered  the  afternoon  paper. 
She  was  a  favorite  at  school  with  teachers  and 
children.  The  blind  beggar  who  sat  on  the 
church  steps  learned  to  know  her  voice.  Indeed, 
Mammy  often  complained  that  she  did  not  even 
require  that  her  friends  should  be  clean,  and  the 
doctor  objected  that  they  did  not  have  to  be 


70          Mammy's  White  Folks 

interesting  for  his  daughter  to  take  them  under 
her  fairy  wings.  The  fact  that  they  were  living 
and  breathing  seemed  enough  for  the  child. 

"  I  believe  she  loves  the  whole  world.  She 
cannot  hate  to  save  her  sweet  life,"  the  doctor 
declared  to  Mammy  when  they  were  engaged 
in  their  favorite  pastime  of  congratulating  them 
selves  that  their  doorstep  had  been  the  one  chosen 
out  of  all  the  thousands  of  others  on  which  to 
leave  the  baby. 

"  Don't  you  believe  it,  Doc  Andy,  don't  you 
believe  it  I  That  there  chu"  is  jes'  as  good  a 
hater  as  she  is  a  lover,  but  she  is  slow  ter  hate. 
Some  folks  she  jes'  nachully  'spises.  When  she 
hates  anybody,  it  looks  lak  she  hates  'em  all 
over.  I  done  tuck  notice  that  she  don't  say 
nothin'  when  them  folkes  is  roun',  but  she  jes' 
sets  quiet  lak  an'  is  extra  politeful." 

There  was  only  one  thing  Dr.  Wallace  would 
not  do  for  his  adopted  daughter  and  that  was  to 
talk  to  her  about  his  fictitious  wife.  He  could 
not  bring  himself  to  do  it.  He  well  knew  that 
in  his  silence  he  had  been  party  to  the  fraud 
worked  by  Mammy  on  the  public  and  on  the 
little  Esther,  but  nevertheless  he  drew  a  cer 
tain  satisfaction  from  the  circumstance  that 
never  once  had  he  spoken  of  the  dead  wife. 
He  simply  kept  his  mouth  tightly  closed  when 
ever  she  was  alluded  to. 


Justifying  a  Lie  71 

Mammy  had  so  drilled  the  child,  and  their 
neighbors  and  acquaintances,  that  they  never 
spoke  to  the  doctor  of  the  young  woman  who 
was  supposed  to  have  been  so  beloved  by  him 
that  he  could  not  trust  himself  to  mention  her 
name.  As  the  years  passed  the  role  became 
easier  and  easier  for  him  to  play  before  the 
neighbors  and  friends,  but  more  and  more  diffi 
cult  as  far  as  the  child  was  concerned. 

Perfect  sympathy  and  understanding  existed 
between  man  and  little  girl  except  on  that  one 
subject,  and  as  is  usuaDy  the  case,  that  one 
subject  seemed  ever  present.  Sometimes  he 
would  feel  that  he  must  break  his  silence  and 
talk  to  her  of  that  mother  around  whose  memory 
he  well  knew  Esther  was  weaving  wonderful 
romances,  but  his  conscience  had  drawn  the  line 
between  being  party  to  a  lie  and  actually  telling 
it  and  he  never  could  bring  himself  to  make  the 
attempt.  There  were  moments  when,  in  his 
heart,  he  fiercely  blamed  Mammy  for  the  deceit 
he  had  been  forced  by  her  to  practice,  but  then 
something  would  occur  to  make  him  glad  that 
things  were  as  they  were. 

On  one  occasion  Esther  had  come  home  from 
school  with  flushed  cheeks  and  shining  eyes 
because  of  something  that  had  happened.  A 
little  girl  had  been  guilty  of  a  very  naughty 


72  Mammy's  White  Folks 

deed.  She  had  been  caught  going  through  chil 
dren's  coat  pockets  and  had  been  sent  home. 
Many  pennies  and  pencils  had  been  missed  dur 
ing  the  session,  and  now  the  whole  class  was 
sure  that  the  convicted  one  was  responsible  for 
the  theft  of  all  the  lost  articles. 

"  And,  Daddy,  they  said  such  terrible  things 
about  poor  Amelia  —  things  that  make  me  so 
sorry  for  her." 

Esther  had  burst  into  the  dining-room  just  as 
the  doctor  was  being  seated  and  while  Mammy 
was  bringing  in  dinner.  She  flounced  into  her 
seat,  throwing  her  hat  and  coat  carelessly  on  a 
chair.  They  slid  to  the  floor. 

'  What  did  they  say?  It  seems  to  me  that  a 
little  girl  who  steals  must  have  something  wrong 
with  her  brain.  Is  she  poor?" 

"  Oh,  Daddy,  that's  the  worst  part  of  it! 
She  is  not  at  all  poor,  but  wears  the  flossiest 
clothes  at  school  and  is  so  pretty!  They  say 
she  is  'dopted  —  'dopted  by  rich  people.  I 
didn't  know  what  'dopted  meant,  but  the  girls 
told  me.  They  say  she  doesn't  even  know  who 
her  really  truly  mother  and  father  were.  Her 
'dopted  mother  got  her  out  of  a  'sylum.  She 
chose  her  just  because  she  was  so  pretty.  And 
now  all  the  girls  at  school  say  they  reckon  her 
really  truly  mother  and  father  were  bad  and 


Justifying  a  Lie  73 

she  got  stealing  from  them.     Oh,  Daddy,  I'm 
so  glad  I'm  not  'dopted!  " 

Esther  ran  around  the  table  to  give  the  doctor 
an  extra  kiss,  administering  a  little  hug  to 
Mammy's  legs  as  she  passed  the  old  woman, 
who  was  standing  near  the  table,  a  covered  dish 
in  her  hands  and  her  brown  old  face  working 
strangely. 

"  Now,  if  I'm  bad  it  will  be  all  my  own  fault, 
won't  it,  Daddy?  You  are  so  good  and  I  am 
sure  my  mother  —  " 

Esther  suddenly  remembered  Mammy's  ad 
monitions  concerning  the  mention  of  her  mother 
to  her  father  and  stopped  short.  Her  eyes 
filled  with  tears,  and  she  looked  longingly  into 
the  doctor's  face.  If  he  would  only  talk  to  her 
about  her  mother,  what  a  comfort  it  would  be! 
His  mouth  closed  tightly  but  he  put  his  arm 
around  the  child  and  drew  her  close  to  him, 
giving  an  appealing  glance  to  Mammy.  The 
old  woman  arose  to  the  occasion  as  was  her 
wont. 

'  Yo'  maw  wa'  a  angel,  yes,  a  angel !  You 
ain't  gonter  take  no  lowness  arfter  her.  An' 
she  wa'  that  'ticular  an'  tidy  'bout  her  things  - 
allus  a  puttin'  'em  away  an'  foldin'  'em  up7 
I  never  yet  seed  yo'  maw  a  throw  her  coat  an' 
hat  on  the  flo'." 


74          Mammy's  White  Folks 

"Didn't  you,  Mammy?  Well,  I'm  going  to 
try  and  be  like  her.  'Scuse  me  a  minute, 
Daddy!"  The  child  picked  up  her  hat  and 
coat  and  meekly  took  them  in  the  hall  where 
Mammy  had  put  a  rack  under  the  stair  at  a 
convenient  height  for  short  arms  to  reach. 

Mammy  looked  triumphantly  at  her  master. 
He  could  not  help  but  feel  that  she  had  been 
right  in  protecting  Esther  as  she  had  done. 
The  lie  was  justified. 

"  You'd  better  tell  her  that  her  maw  wa'  good 
at  rithmutic.  It  mought  give  her  some  ambition 
ter  larn,"  she  whispered. 

The  doctor  smiled.  He  could  not  but  be 
glad  that  his  little  girl  did  not  have  to  contend 
with  poor  Amelia's  handicap.  As  she  slid  back 
in  her  place,  he  looked  at  her  with  satisfaction. 
She  must  never  know  that  she  too  was  adopted. 
Never  must  she  feel  that  there  was  no  use  in 
trying  because  she  had  inherited  any  undesir 
able  tendencies.  Every  fault  must  be  her  own 
fault,  to  be  overcome  by  herself. 


Chapter  7 
THE  IMAGINARY  PORTRAIT 

"  Peter,  how  did  it  happen  you  never  saw  my 
mother?  Haven't  you  known  Daddy  for  ever 
and  ever  so  long? " 

"Yes,  pretty  long!" 

"  Are  you  sure  you  never  saw  her?  " 

"  Sure  as  can  be !  " 

"  Weren't  you  in  New  York  when  Daddy 
was,  after  you  finished  college?" 

"  For  a  while." 

"  Don't  you  think  it  would  have  been  more 
f riendly-like  if  you  had  gone  to  see  my  mother 
after  Daddy  married  her? " 

"Well—"  er  —  yes  —  " 

"Of  course  it  would  have  been!  Oh,  Peter, 
it  seems  to  me  so  careless  that  nobody  has  a 
picture  of  my  mother.  Daddy  has  never  talked 
to  me  about  her  —  never  since  I've  been  born. 
Mammy  tells  me  things,  but  I  want  to  know  so 
much  more.  You  see,  Mammy  only  saw  her  for 
a  little  while  because  she  died  so  young,  and 
then  Mammy  brought  me  here.  Daddy  had 
come  here  to  make  a  home  for  Mother  and  me." 

75 


76  Mammy's  White  Folks 

"Twelve  years  ago,  wasn't  it?*' 

"  Yes!  Next  week  is  my  birthday.  You  see, 
Peter,  I  always  give  Daddy  a  present  on  my 
birthday  just  because  I  am  so  glad  he  is  my 
Daddy,  and  this  year  I  am  making  him  a  water- 
color  painting  of  my  mother." 

"  Your  mother!  "  The  phlegmatic  Peter  was 
aroused. 

"Yes,  Peter!  Of  course  it  is  a  work  of  the 
imagination,  but  I  am  almost  sure  it  is  like  her. 
Mammy  has  told  me  exactly  how  she  looked. 
She  looked  a  little  like  me  —  quite  like  me  in 
fact  —  but  her  eyes  were  as  blue  as  the  moun 
tains  way  off,  not  nut  brown  like  mine,  but  the 
same  shape,  and  her  hair  almost  touched  the 
ground,  and  it  was  golden  and  wavy,  not  curly 
like  mine  and  not  so  reddish  as  mine.  Her  nose 
started  out  to  be  like  mine  but  decided  to  be  a 
little  longer.  Maybe  when  I  am  all  the  way 
grown  up,  my  nose  will  turn  down  —  at  least 
not  turn  up  so  much.  I'd  like  for  it  to  get  to  be 
more  like  my  mother's.  Noses  are  so  hard  to 
draw.  I  practice  on  them  all  the  time.  My 
arithmetic  is  a  sight  because  I  have  drawn 
teacher's  nose  all  up  and  down  the  margins. 
I  am  getting  now  so  I  can  do  three-quarter 
noses  —  almost  as  hard  as  fractions  but  lots 
more  fun  —  and  "I  tell  you  they  are  hard.  It  is 


The  Imaginary  Portrait          77 

easier  when  you  get  to  painting,  because  you 
can  kind  of  smudge  in  some  shadows  and  cover 
up  your  faults.  I'm  working  so  hard  on  the 
picture  of  Mother  that  I  am  not  trusting  to 
smudges  to  cover  up  anything." 

"  Are  you  doing  the  whole  thing  from  imagi 
nation?" 

"  No,  Peter  dear,  I  am  posing  for  it  myself. 
I  look  in  the  mirror  and  make  believe  I  am 
twenty  years  old.  I  try  to  imagine  I  love  some 
body  a  whole  lot  —  not  the  way  I  love  Daddy 
and  Mammy  and  you,  too,  Peter  dear,  but  the 
way  Rapunzel  loved  the  prince  —  enough  to  let 
him  climb  in  the  window  by  my  hair ;  or  the  way 
the  princess  must  have  loved  King  Thrushbeard 
when  she  worked  as  a  kitchen  maid  for  him  and 
carried  home  scraps  in  an  old  tomato  can ;  or  the 
way  Maid  Maleen  loved  the  prince  —  so  much 
that  she  didn't  even  mind  being  shut  up  in  a 
"dark  tower  for  his  sake,  without  so  much  as  a 
ray  of  light  to  comb  her  long  hair  by.  After  I 
think  of  myself  this  way,  it  seems  as  though 
my  nose  turns  down  a  wee  bit.  Daddy  says  he 
thinks  my  nose  is  pretty  — '  Tip  tilted  like  the 
petals  of  a  rose/  he  says." 

'*  Well  it  is  a  rather  happy  nose,"  laughed 
Peter.  '  When  are  you  going  to  show  me  your 
picture?  " 


78          Mammy's  White  Folks 

"  Now,  if  you  want  me  to !  You  see,  it  is  not 
done  yet.  I  am  glad  I  started  on  a  thick  piece 
of  water-color  paper  because  I've  had  to  rub  a 
lot.  It  may  turn  out  to  be  a  little  woolly.  That 
is  what  the  drawing  teacher  calls  it  when  you 
have  to  rub  out  a  lot,  but  I  believe  it  is  better  to 
try  hard  and  have  it  woolly  than  to  get  right 
just  by  accident.  This  picture  of  my  mother  is 
very  serious.  When  you  are  putting  your  whole 
soul  into  anything,  somehow  you  don't  want  to 
be  just  hit  or  miss,  do  you,  Peter? " 

"I  reckon  not!" 

Esther  was  developing  a  decided  taste  for 
drawing  and  painting.  Her  artistic  talent  first 
evinced  itself  when  she  began  to  ply  a  pair  of 
blunt  scissors  on  the  papers  she  cut  for 
Mammy's  kitchen  shelves.  Instead  of  the  pat 
tern  of  little  triangles  and  gimcracks  that 
Mammy  had  taught  her  to  cut  by  folding  the 
newspapers  many  times,  the  child's  imagination 
directed  the  scissors  so  that  a  frieze  of  birds  was 
the  result;  then  came  flowers  and  trees.  Later 
came  a  great  day  when  she  found  she  could  cut 
a  fairy  with  wings,  a  star  on  her  forehead  and 
wand  in  her  hand.  Mammy  was  proud  indeed 
of  these  wondrous  shelf -papers,  and  when  they 
got  so  soiled  that  they  had  to  be  replaced,  she 
could  not  bear  to  destroy  them  but  folded  them 


The  Imaginary  Portrait          79 

up  and  packed  them  away  in  the  attic  trunk. 

A  pair  of  sharp-pointed  scissors  was  finally 
permitted  the  young  artist  if  she  promised 
never  to  use  them  when  she  had  company. 
That  pair  of  silver  scissors,  presented  by  Peter, 
was  Esther's  pride  and  joy.  Now  she  could  cut 
reindeer  with  branching  antlers,  running 
through  a  forest  where  the  bare  trees  with  their 
intricate  pattern  of  limbs  must  be  treated  with 
infinite  patience  and  skill.  The  household  mar 
veled  at  her  patience  and  the  untiring  efforts 
she  made  to  accomplish  her  ideal,  whether  it 
was  a  decoration  for  Mammy's  shelves  or  a 
paper  doll  for  one  of  her  admiring  playmates. 

The  dolls  were  exquisite  creations  of  the 
imagination.  All  of  the  princesses  in  the  fairy 
stories  had  to  play  their  parts  as  paper  dolls, 
and  if  one  of  them  was  said  to  have  a  dress  like 
the  stars,  another  like  the  moon,  and  another 
like  the  sun,  have  them  they  must. 

Esther  lived  in  a  land  of  make-believe.  From 
the  time  she  could  understand,  Dr.  Wallace  had 
entertained  her  with  fairy  stories.  And  Mammy 
had  told  her  wonderful  tales  of  animals  —  the 
folk  lore  of  the  negroes.  When  she  learned  to 
read,  it  was  feared  she  might  spend  too  much  of 
her  time  with  her  nose  buried  in  a  book,  but 
she  was  too  popular  a  person  for  that.  The 


80          Mammy's  White  Folks 

children  of  her  acquaintance  would  not  permit 
it,  and  so  she  must  take  her  fairy  fancies  into 
her  games.  She  was  forever  getting  up  tab 
leaux.  Sleeping  Beauty,  Cinderella,  Puss-in- 
Boots,  Snow- White  and  the  Dwarfs  were 
presented  many  times.  A  box  of  tissue  paper 
costumes,  somewhat  the  worse  for  wear  after 
several  performances,  was  kept  in  the  attic,  but 
flowing  hair  and  a  gold  paper  star  on  one's 
forehead  often  kept  the  audience  from  seeing 
the  rumpled  state  of  the  costume. 

From  tableaux  grew  plays.  Plays  must  be 
written  and  acted.  Of  course  this  subtracted 
somewhat  from  the  time  that  should  have  been 
spent  on  the  difficult  mathematics,  but  Dr. 
Wallace  felt  that,  after  all,  this  was  the  way 
his  little  daughter  had  of  growing  and  he  must 
not  stunt  her  growth  by  trying  to  discourage  it. 
Mammy  had  her  doubts  about  "  play  actin'  an' 
sich,"  as  she  had  been  preached  to  in  church 
about  the  iniquities  of  the  theatre,  but  when 
Esther  explained  to  her  that  if  you  didn't  do  a 
tiling  too  well,  preachers  did  not  mind  it,  the 
old  woman  was  entirely  satisfied. 

"  It  'pears  ter  me  lak  it's  pow'ful  nachel,  so 
let  it  be  jes*  as  you  say,  honey  chiF.  I  ain't 
nebber  been  ter  a  real  show,  so  I  ain't  prepared 
ter  say  what  kin  be  did." 


The  Imaginary  Portrait          81 

Sometimes  the  doctor  was  pressed  into  service 
in  these  wonderful  private  theatricals.  Usually 
he  was  cast  as  the  kingly  father,  but  sometimes 
he  had  to  take  the  part  of  the  wicked  magician. 
Even  Peter  had  been  known  to  act  in  them, 
always  under  outward  protest,  but  secretly 
pleased  at  being  included,  although  his  part  was 
always  a  silent  one,  or  almost  silent.  He  had 
acted  the  faithful  henchman;  the  huntsman  who 
could  not  make  up  his  mind  to  kill  Snow- White 
but  took  instead  the  heart  of  the  doe  to  the 
wicked  step-mother;  also,  Faithful  Henry,  who 
bound  his  body  with  iron  bands  to  keep  his 
heart  from  bursting  with  sorrow  when  his  mas 
ter  was  changed  into  a  frog.  When,  in  this 
latter  impersonation,  his  heart  swelled  with  joy 
and  pride  at  the  liberation  of  the  prince,  the 
noise  the  bands  made  in  bursting  was  a  marvel 
of  histrionic  talent,  so  Esther  declared. 

Mammy  was  always  the  Fairy  Godmother, 
disguised  as  an  old  witch.  The  old  woman  was 
a  little  squeamish  about  such  goings  on,  living 
in  constant  fear  that  "  mimbers  of  my  sassiety  " 
might  hear  of  it,  but  Esther  insisted  that  she 
must  act,  so  act  she  must. 

A  true  prince  was  wanting  in  the  all  star 
cast.  Esther's  best  friend,  Marian  Carley,  who 
was  blessed  with  a  pair  of  long  shapely  legs, 


82          Mammy's  White  Folks 

usually  had  to  don  the  tights  and  play  prince, 
but  she  longed  to  be  chosen  as  Sleeping  Beauty 
and  did  not  at  all  relish  having  to  be  nothing 
but  a  boy. 

Play-acting  had  lately  given  way  somewhat 
to  drawing  and  painting.  All  of  the  time 
Esther  could  spare  from  her  lessons,  and  a  great 
deal  that  she  couldn't,  was  spent  with  pencil  and 
brush.  Dr.  Wallace  had  hunted  up  a  teacher 
for  the  child.  Miss  Hunter  recognized  that  her 
pupil  had  a  decided  talent,  and  took  a  great 
interest  in  her.  She  hoped  to  be  able  to  give  a 
foundation  for  the  fanciful  imagination  to  build 
on,  especially  since  the  young  artist  had  the 
rare  talent  of  being  able  to  catch  a  likeness. 

"  Imagination  is  a  great  gift,  but  it  will  be 
just  so  much  more  of  an  asset  if  it  goes  hand  in 
hand  with  good  drawing  and  true  values,*'  she 
would  tell  her  eager  pupil. 

Esther  had  been  working  every  afternoon  for 
many  days  on  the  birthday  present  for  her 
father.  Her  companions,  headed  by  Marian, 
were  impatient  of  this  latest  fad  of  their  friend. 
They  longed  for  a  return  to  her  early  manner 
of  paper  dolls  and  fairy  tableaux,  something  in 
which  they  might  join,  but  nothing  would  lure 
the  girl  from  the  mirror  where  she  studied  her 
youthful  features  with  an  absorbed  intensity. 


The  Imaginary  Portrait          83 

When  Peter  asked  Esther  to  show  him  the 
picture  she  was  painting,  she  ran  eagerly  to  get 
it.  "  If  only  he  had  seen  the  original! "  was 
her  thought  as  she  hurried  back  with  the  paint 
ing.  She  was  almost  afraid  to  show  it  to 
Mammy.  Suppose  she  would  not  recognize  it! 
Suppose  the  idea  she  had  formed  of  her  dead 
mother  was  entirely  an  erroneous  one !  She  had 
drawn  the  picture  for  her  father,  but  she  was 
determined  to  guard  her  secret  closely.  If  they 
saw  the  likeness,  then  her  happiness  would  be 
complete.  If  not,  then  she  had  simply  failed  to 
grasp  the  appearance  of  her  poor  dead  mother, 
or  had  failed  to  record  the  image  with  her  inex 
perienced  pencil  and  brush.  Either  alternative 
was  more  or  less  of  a  tragedy  to  the  child. 

"  Peter,  dear,  I  have  worked  so  hard,"  she 
said  hesitantly  as  she  handed  him  the  water-color 
painting.  "  I  don't  think  it  is  so  very  clever, 
and  I  am  sure  Miss  Hunter  would  tell  me  to 
begin  all  over  again  and  get  it  crisper.  But 
you  do  think  it  looks  a  little  like  me,  don't 
you?  Do  you  think  it  looks  as  though  it  might 
have  been  my  mother? " 

Peter's  hand  trembled  a  little  as  he  held  the 
picture  from  him  to  get  the  right  light  and  dis 
tance.  The  man  was  one  of  those  silent,  inar 
ticulate  persons  who  are  full  of  sympathy  and 


84  Mammy's  White  Folks 

understanding  that  cannot  be  expressed.  Some 
times  one  feels  that  a  person  is  silent  from  the 
fact  that  he  has  nothing  to  say,  but  with  Peter, 
his  friends  knew  that  he  was  reticent  from  a 
certain  inability  to  give  expression  to  his  inmost 
feelings.  The  feelings  were  there,  but  where 
emotions  were  concerned,  he  had  no  words  at  his 
command.  When  Esther  looked  eagerly  into 
his  face  for  his  verdict  concerning  her  poor  little 
painting,  all  he  could  say  was: 

"  Yes,  I  think  it  might  have  been." 

"Really,  Peter?" 

"Really!" 

The  man  was  astonished  at  the  skill  the  child 
had  shown  hi  the  little  drawing.  He  felt  that 
she  had  in  a  measure  expressed  what  she  had 
intended.  It  was  a  picture  of  herself  grown 
up  into  a  woman  of  ethereal  loveliness,  who 
showed  in  the  depths  of  her  violet  eyes  that  she 
had  suffered.  The  mouth  smiled  a  little  wist 
fully,  but  smiled.  The  yellow  hair  was  parted 
in  the  middle  and  braided  into  two  long  plaits 
which  fell  across  her  bosom.  What  did  it  matter 
that  the  hair  was  too  yellow  for  mortal  hair? 
What  if  the  mouth  was  too  vivid  a  red?  What 
if  the  much  used  eraser  had  almost  rubbed  a 
hole  in  several  places?  One  felt  that  the  little 
artist  had  been  sincere  —  had  had  something  to 


The  Imaginary  Portrait          85 

express  and  had  expressed  it  with  astonishing 
fidelity. 

It  was  well  drawn  and  showed  a  decided  like 
ness  to  Esther.  Her  long  practice  in  noses  had 
served  her  well.  She  had  been  able  to  continue 
her  own  tip-tilted  member  to  a  dignified  length, 
had  kept  the  eyes  shaped  like  her  own  but  had 
painted  them  a  deep  violet  instead  of  brown. 

"  Do  you  think  Daddy  and  Mammy  will 
recognize  it,  Peter?  " 

"  Can't  say,  my  dear.     Ask  them." 
"  Not  for  worlds !     I  am  not  going  to  tell 
them  who  it  is  but  just  watch  their  faces  and 
see    if    they    know.      Don't    you    tell    them. 
Promise! " 

"  Umm  —  sure,  not  if  you  say  I  shouldn't!" 
Peter  regretted  exceedingly  that  he  was  an 
honorable  gentleman.  He  longed  to  put  Dr. 
Wallace  and  Mammy  on  their  guard,  knowing 
that  they  would  do  anything  in  the  world  to 
keep  disappointment  from  their  child.  She  had 
hoped  so  keenly  that  they  would  recognize  the 
picture  of  her  mother  that  failure  would  be  sure 
to  grieve  her  deeply. 


The  fifteenth  of  March  had  been  determined 
upon  by  the  conspirators  as  the  proper  birthday 
for  Esther.  Dr.  Wallace  had  rather  leaned 
towards  putting  it  later  in  the  month  on  the  day 
the  baby  came  to  him,  but  Mammy  insisted 
otherwise. 

"  Some  'quisitive  pusson  '11  be  sho  ter  'member 
on  sich  an'  sich  a  day  they  wa'n't  no  baby  chil' 
here.  No,  Doc  Andv,  if  she  wa'  bawn  in  New 

*  ' 

York,  she  wa'  bawn  thar,  an'  we's  got  ter  make 
'lowances  fer  it.  I  done  studied  out  this  here  lie 
til  it's  the  same  as  truf." 

And  so  the  birthday  was  set  at  the  fifteenth, 
and  thereafter  that  day  was  ever  a  gala  day 
with  the  household.  Year  after  year,  from  the 
time  when  the  cake  was  no  bigger  than  a  muffin 
with  one  candle  decorating  it,  Peter  Roche 
always  came  to  supper  on  that  evening. 

The  presenting  of  birthday  gifts  came  first. 
Usually  it  was  just  before  supper.  Mammy 
always  provided  a  feast  for  the  occasion,  and 

86 


A  Wonderful  Birthday          87 

the  table  was  set  with  great  nicety.  Dr.  Wallace 
had  brought  from  the  old  home  in  Virginia 
many  fine  old  bits  of  silver  and  furniture  that 
had  been  in  his  family  for  generations.  Mammy 
kept  the  drop-leaf  mahogany  dining-table 
rubbed  up  to  the  highest  state  of  polish.  A  spot 
on  it  would  have  been  regarded  by  her  as 
seriously  as  a  blot  on  the  family  escutcheon. 

"  Th'ain't  no  varnish  nor  nothin'  on  the 
Wallace  furnisher  any  mo'  than  they  is  on 
the  fambly.  Good  furnisher  an*  good  famblies 
don't  need  no  varnish.  I  looks  arfter  the  fur 
nisher  wif  elbow  grease,  an'  the  fambly  is  done 
polished  up  wif  eddication  fer  so  many  genera 
tions  it  jes'  shines  of  its  own  nachel  brilliancy," 
the  old  retainer  declared. 

Truly,  the  table  was  a  beautiful  sight  on  little 
Esther's  twelfth  birthday.  Pink  shaded  wax 
candles  in  massive  silver  candelabra  threw  a  soft 
light  over  the  polished  table.  In  the  centre  was 
a  bowl  of  tea  roses  sent  by  Peter  because  he 
always  felt  that  Esther  and  tea  roses  were  akin. 
Of  course,  his  inarticulate  handicap  kept  him 
from  sa3'ing  so.  He  hoped  some  one  understood 
why  he  had  always  sent  tea  roses  for  the  birth 
day  feast.  Whether  anyone  else  saw  that  the 
color  down  in  the  heart  of  a  tea  rose  was  the  same 
as  came  in  the  shadows  of  the  child's  soft  con- 


88  Mammy's  White  Folks 

tours,  he  could  not  tell,  but  nevertheless  he 
derived  extreme  satisfaction  from  knowing  it 
himself.  Her  pretty  little  ears  might  have  been 
the  petals  of  a  rose,  with  their  creamy  pink 
glow;  also  the  tip-tilted  nose  that  she  felt  such 
unreasonable  scorn  of. 

Esther  had  been  in  a  strange  mood  all  day, 
one  moment  flying  around  like  a  will  o'  the 
wisp,  the  next  subdued  and  pensive.  She  had 
mixed  up  the  greatest  common  divisor  and  the 
least  common  multiple  in  an  astonishing  manner 
at  school,  until  the  patient  teacher  had  almost 
despaired  of  ever  making  her  see  the  light.  She 
had  drawn  a  frieze  of  noses  in  her  copy  book 
instead  of  writing,  "  Procrastination  is  the  thief 
of  time,"  twenty  times,  which  was  the  light 
punishment  that  had  been  meted  out  to  her 
for  inattention.  Some  of  the  noses  were  her 
own,  and  others  were  more  turned  down.  All 
of  them  seemed  to  her  to  be  tragic. 

"  Maybe  one  can  suffer  with  a  turned-up  nose 
after  all,"  she  mused. 

She  was  sure  of  it  later  on  when  she  had  to 
stay  in  half  an  hour  after  school  to  work  off  her 
demerits. 

She  had  had  her  painting  framed,  and  was 
anxiously  awaiting  the  hour  when  she  would 
present  it  to  her  father. 


A  Wonderful  Birthday          89 

"They'll  recognize  it!  I  know  they  will!" 
she  said  over  and  over  to  herself. 

"  But  suppose  they  don't!  Suppose  I  haven't 
been  thinking  about  the  right  mother  all  the 
time!  Maybe  I  haven't  caught  the  likeness  of 
the  mother  I  have  been  dreaming  of." 

Peter,  too,  was  going  through  agonies. 
Almost  was  he  persuaded  to  break  his  word  to 
Esther  and  warn  his  friend  and  old  Mammy  of 
the  coming  crisis. 

"  I'd  do  it  if  I  could  be  sure  she  wouldn't 
find  it  out  —  No,  I  wouldn't.  The  poor  child 
has  had  her  very  existence  based  on  a  necessary 
lie,  but  that  one  lie  must  be  all."  He  groaned 
miserably  to  himself  as  he  rang  the  bell  at  the 
old  Grant  house. 

An  air  of  festivity  pervaded  the  place. 
Delicious  odors  of  the  forthcoming  supper  had 
found  their  way  to  the  front  hall  when  Esther 
threw  open  the  door  in  answer  to  his  summons. 
Bowing  low  in  mock  ceremony,  she  took  his 
hand  in  hers  and  conducted  him  to  the  library 
where  Dr.  Wallace  awaited  their  guest. 

"  I  have  put  a  lovely  frame  on  it,  and  the  hole 
I  almost  rubbed  into  it  doesn't  show  a  bit,  now  it  is 
mounted,"  she  whispered  as  she  danced  by  his 
side. 

"Good!" 


90          Mammy's  White  Folks 

"Oh,  Peter,  only  s'pose!" 

Peter  looked  mutely  at  his  little  friend.  If 
he  could  only  help  her! 

Everything  was  in  readiness  for  the  feast, 
but  first  the  presents  must  be  opened.  Peter 
had  brought  a  blue  locket  set  with  a  star  of  tiny 
pearls,  and  a  thin  gold  chain  from  which  to 
hang  it. 

"  Esther  means  star,  you  know,"  he  said. 

'  Yes,  Peter  dear,  I  do  know,  and  I  think  it 
is  just  like  you  to  get  something  that  means 
something.  And  the  tea  roses,  too!  Do  you 
know,  Peter,  I  used  to  think  maybe  1  was  born 
out  of  a  tea  rose  like  Thumbelina.  When  I 
was  quite  a  little  child,  I  mean.  Of  course, 
when  I  got  older  I  knew  I  had  a  mother  and 
was  born  like  other  babies,  but  tea  roses  are  the 
loveliest  roses  in  the  world  to  me,  and  I  think  it 
must  be  because  I  used  to  think  that  way  about 
them.  You  see,  you  have  always  sent  them  on 
my  birthday,  and  I  have  always  felt  they  were 
my  birth  flower,  somehow." 

"  Er  —  er  —  exactly !  "  Peter  was  satisfied. 
He  felt  that  one  person  understood  him,  but 
being  understood  made  him  desire  with  greater 
intensity  that  his  little  friend  should  be  also. 

Esther  received  her  present  from  her  father, 
a  tiny  wrist  watch.  Her  eyes  filled  with  tears. 


A  Wonderful  Birthday          91 

Why,  she  didn't  know.  Was  there  ever  such  a 
dear,  generous  father  in  all  the  world?  The 
watch  was  indeed  beautiful,  but  she  would  have 
given  it  up  and  all  the  presents  besides,  even 
the  blue  locket  studded  with  pearls,  all,  every 
thing  she  prized  on  earth,  if  only  that  dear, 
generous  father  would  hold  her  close  in  his  arms 
and  talk  to  her  about  her  mother. 

There  were  various  other  presents  from  her 
friends  and  a  silk  patchwork  couch-quilt  from 
Mammy.  The  old  woman  had  done  it  at  night 
and  at  odd  moments  while  Esther  was  at  school. 

"  Oh,  Mammy,  how  beautiful !  And  with 
your  poor  eyes !  You  should  not  have  done  it !  " 

"  Well,  'tain't  but  half  size,  an*  I  been  a  savin* 
them  pieces  fer  quite  a  spell  ter  work  inter  that 
sunrise  pattern.  'Tis  mos'ly  made  er  yo'  paw's 
kervats  an'  yo'  bar  ribbons,"  said  the  old  woman, 
proudly  viewing  her  gift.  "  I  made  it  light 
weight  jes'  ter  th'ow  over  yo'  foots  whin  you 
lay  down  ter  take  a  lil  res'." 

'Yes,  Mammy,  and  I  thank  you  a  million 
times.  I  love  every  stitch  you  put  in  it." 

And  now  she  must  give  her  present  to  the 
doctor.  She  hung  back  embarrassed  and  not 
like  herself.  Mammy  looked  at  her  keenly. 
What  was  the  matter  with  her  pet?  She  had 
not  been  herself  all  day.  Something  was  troub- 


92  Mammy's  White  Folks 

ling  the  child.  Mr.  Peter  looked  excited,  too. 
He  seemed  to  be  trying  to  attract  Mammy's 
attention.  That  is,  he  looked  at  her  intently 
and  bit  his  lips  ferociously.  Once  he  shook  his 
head. 

"  My  white  folks  is  up  ter  something," 
Mammy  muttered  to  herself. 

Usually  Esther  took  the  old  woman  into  her 
confidence  concerning  the  present  that  she  gave 
her  father  on  her  birthday.  This  year  she  had 
not  done  so.  Why?  Keen-witted  old  Mammy 
was  busy  thinking.  It  was  high  time  for  her 
to  repair  to  the  kitchen  and  take  up  supper, 
Init  wild  horses  could  not  tear  her  away,  nor 
even  the  possibility  of  Sally  Lunn  overbaking, 
until  Esther  had  given  her  present  to  the  doctor. 

"Here,  Daddy!  I  painted  it  for  you  —  and 
—  and  I  hope  you  will  —  will  —  make  allow 


ances." 


She  handed  the  picture  to  the  doctor,  tied 
up  in  its  neat  tissue  paper  wrappings. 

"  My  dear,  I  am  certain  to  like  it  if  you  did  it. 
Before  I  even  see  it,  I  assure  you  that  I  won't 
have  to  make  allowances." 

He  undid  the  paper  and  placed  the  framed 
picture  on  the  mantlepiece  where  all  could  get 
a  good  light  on  it.  The  mounting  and  glass 
mercifully  hid  the  places  where  much  rubbing 


A  Wonderful  Birthday          93 

had  almost  worn  through.  The  shiny  gilt  frame 
tempered  the  somewhat  exaggerated  yellow  of 
the  hair.  On  the  whole  it  was  certainly  a  very 
remarkable  painting  for  a  child  of  twelve  to 
have  made. 

"  Lovely  I  Charming !  My  darling  Esther, 
I  am  delighted  I "  exclaimed  Dr.  Wallace.  "  It 
looks  like  you,  too,  which  makes  it  just  so  much 
lovelier." 

Peter  did  not  groan,  but  he  nearly  did  so.  He 
looked  appealingly  at  Mammy.  Mammy 
caught  his  eye  and  then  looked  at  Esther.  The 
girl's  mouth  was  trembling.  Her  expression 
was  touchingly  forlorn.  Suddenly  the  light 
broke  in  on  the  old  woman's  brain.  She  clapped 
her  hands  delightedly. 

"  Lawsamussy,  Doc  Andy,  if  it  ain't  a  pixsher 
er  Miss  Elizabeth  1" 

Dr.  Wallace  gasped!  Surely,  Mammy  had 
gone  crazy. 

The  good  man  had  been  startled  and  distressed 
when  he  had  seen  his  little  girl  evidently  on 
the  verge  of  tears  when  he  praised  the  paint 
ing.  What  the  cause  was,  he  could  not  divine, 
but  he  saw  her  mouth  tremble  and  her  brown 
eyes  ready  to  run  over.  He  thought  she  must 
be  sick  —  perhaps  she  was  about  to  come  down 
with  one  of  the  many  children's  diseases  she 


94          Mammy's  White  Folks 

had  up  to  that  time  miraculously  escaped. 

"  Sho  it's  Miss  Elizabeth!  Look  at  that  long 
goldin  hair  an'  them  eyes  jes'  lak  Esther's 
'ceptin'  they's  blue!  I  don't  see  how  you  done 
it,  chil',  wif  a  lil  water  an'  them  patty  pans  er 
paint." 

At  Mammy's  discovery,  Esther's  whole  ex 
pression  had  changed.  Now  her  eyes  were 
dancing  again.  The  tears  were  falling,  but 
they  had  no  more  sorrow  in  them  than  an  April 
shower  because  she  was  smiling  at  the  same 
time.  She  laughed  with  glee  and  threw  her 
arms  around  Mammy's  neck. 

She  had  dreamed  true!  She  had  dreamed 
true!  Mammy  had  recognized  her  picture 
whether  her  father  had  or  not!  As  she  buried 
her  face  on  Mammy's  faithful  bosom,  Peter 
gave  Dr.  Wallace  a  ferocious  dig  in  his  ribs. 

"Of  course!  Of  course!  I  had  not  got  a 
good  light  on  it.  It  is  exactly  like  her  I  Splen 
did!  Splendid!  Remarkable !"  he  managed  to 
jerk  out. 

Then  Esther  flew  to  his  arms.  He  had  at  last 
mentioned  her  mother  to  her.  She  was  sure 
that  in  all  the  world  there  was  never  such  a 
happy  child  as  she.  Not  only  had  she  dreamed 
true,  but  she  had  been  able  to  put  her  dream 
on  paper. 


A  Wonderful  Birthday  95 

If  the  two  men  had  not  been  so  busy  watching 
Esther,  they  would  have  found  food  for  study  in 
the  countenance  of  the  old  colored  woman.  In 
it  they  might  have  found  a  mingling  of  tender 
ness  and  triumph.  Her  ancient  eyes,  that  had 
begun  to  be  somewhat  dimmed,  were  shining, 
and  her  bent  shoulders  straightened  up  like  a 
girl's.  She  held  her  head  erect  and  her  whole 
figure  suggested  power.  One  might  have  felt 
that  the  noble  blood  of  the  African  king  that 
her  great-grandmother  had  told  her  ran  in  her 
veins  was  asserting  itself.  By  her  powerful  will 
she  had  certainly  made  her  master  say  that  he 
saw  the  likeness  to  his  fictitious  wife  in  the  little 
water-color  painting. 


Chapter  9 
ESTHER   MEETS  A  FAIRY  PRINCE 

"Don't  forget,  Daddy!" 

"Forget  what?" 

"  Oh,  you  have  already  forgotten!  Can't  you 
remember  that  you  promised  to  go  to  the 
Carleys  for  supper  this  evening?  They  are 
counting  on  it.  Marian  says  they  have  ordered 
ice  cream  from  Nunnally's  and  are  going  to 
have  a  spread.  Mr.  Carley  is  just  crazy  about 
you,  Daddy,  and  it  will  break  his  heart  if  you 
don't  go."  Esther  had  perched  herself  on  the 
arm  of  her  father's  chair,  and  busied  herself 
smoothing  his  hair  and  rumpling  his  collar. 

"  Nonsense !  Carley  is  a  good  soul,  but  I 
can't  see  that  I  am  called  upon  to  spend  an 
evening  with  him.  It  is  much  pleasanter  at 
home.  Besides  I  may  get  called  out.  Old  Mrs. 
White  is  very  ill.  But,  of  course,  if  I  promised, 
I  promised." 

It  fretted  Dr.  Wallace  whenever  he  had  to 
spend  an  evening  away  from  home.  It  was  so 
pleasant  there,  with  Esther  hurrying  through 
her  lessons  so  she  could  talk  to  him  while  she 

96 


Esther  Meets  a  Fairy  Prince     97 

put  in  her  time  sketching.  Sometimes  it  was 
noses  that  claimed  her  interest;  again,  eyes  and 
ears.  Lately  she  had  been  doing  hands  in  all 
positions.  Mammy's  hands  she  loved  to  draw, 
declaring  they  were  like  beautiful  old  apple 
trees  all  gnarled  and  twisted  from  bearing  fruit. 
She  would  tell  the  old  woman  that  she  could  get 
into  Heaven  without  any  recommendation  from 
the  Recording  Angel.  All  she  would  have  to 
do  would  be  to  show  Peter  her  hands  and  he 
could  tell  by  them  how  good  she  had  been  on 
earth.  Sometimes  she  would  hold  up  her  own 
left  hand  as  a  model. 

Often  Peter  Roche  would  drop  in,  and  per 
haps  Marian  Carley  and  other  of  her  young 
friends.  The  doctor  enjoyed  these  girls  in 
spite  of  their  sex.  It  never  seemed  to  enter  his 
shy  consciousness  that  they  were  females.  They 
were  simply  the  friends  of  his  daughter  —  noth 
ing  but  children.  Had  he  realized  that  they 
were  beginning  to  think  of  themselves  as  grown 
ups,  110  doubt  his  shyness  would  have  gotten 
the  better  of  him. 

"  Doc  Andy  is  lak  the  man  what  done  lifted  a 
calf  ev'y  day  'til  it  got  ter  be  a  cow,  an'  he 
ain't  a  noticed  that  it  done  growed  up.  Miss 
Esther  an'  her  frien's  is  fifteen  or  tharabouts 
an'  they  ain't  chilluns  no  mo',  but  Doc  Andy, 


98  Mammy's  White  Folks 

he  ain't  a  thinkin'  'bout  'em  as  nothin'  but 
babies." 

On  the  day  Esther  was  fifteen  Mammy  had 
begun  to  call  her  Miss  Esther,  although  the 
girl  protested  vigorously,  declaring  she  could 
never  be  '*  Miss "  to  Mammy,  but  Mammy 
insisted  that  it  was  right  and  held  to  her  deter 
mination. 

"  I  ain't  a-sayin  but  sometimes  in  the  privacy 
of  retiracy  that  I  won't  slip  up  an'  fergit,  but 
'fo'  folks  I's  gonter  gib  you  yo'  full  name  an' 
clature." 

Esther  and  her  friends  were  not  the  only 
ones  who  were  growing  older.  Dr.  Wallace  was 
forty-five  and  Mammy  was  somewhere  between 
seventy  and  seventy-five,  as  nearly  as  she  could 
calculate. 

"  I  wa'  a  woman  growed  whin  Marse  Jeb 
Stuart  come  announcin'  ter  Marse  Bob  Wallace 
that  the  onlies'  way  ter  git  shet  er  the  Yankees 
wa'  ter  whup  'em.  Looks  lak  it  didn't  wuck 
somehow,  'cause  we  sho  ain't  shet  er  'em  yit. 
Howsomever,  that  wa'  a  long  time  ergo  an*  I 
mus  be  a-gittin  ol'  —  nigh  'bout  sebenty-five. 
I's  spry  yit,  though,  pow'ful  spry." 

And  so  she  was,  but  the  straight  old  back  was 
bent  now,  and  the  proudly-set  head  had  fallen 
somewhat  between  the  shoulders,  which  were  no 


Esther  Meets  a  Fairy  Prince     99 

longer  erect.  Her  keen  black  eyes  were  grow 
ing  dim.  Cataracts  were  forming  over  them. 
She  fought  off  weakness  and  old  age  with  the 
determination  that  was  part  of  her  forceful 
character.  When  her  master  suggested  that 
she  get  someone  to  help  her  with  the  housework, 
she  refused  indignantly. 

"  I  ain't  a  gonter  hab  no  young  free-niggers 
loafin'  'roun'  here  a  eatin'  up  yo'  victuals  an' 
settin'  up  ter  be  as  good  as  Miss  Esther.  They's 
a  lot  er  wuck  lef  in  me  yit.  'Cose,  if  you  is 
got  ary  complaint  ter  make  —  " 

"  Now,  now,  Mammy,  you  know  it  isn't 
that!"  he  would  say  miserably.  "I  just  want 
to  save  you." 

"  Well,  whin  I  need  savin'  it's  time  ter  bury 
me,  an'  savin'  won't  do  no  good."  And  thus 
the  conversation  would  end. 

Dr.  Wallace  wished  he  could  resist  the  all-too- 
evident  feeling  of  getting  old  with  some  of  the 
spirit  his  old  servant  evinced.  There  was  no 
denying  the  fact  that  his  hair  was  rapidly  grey 
ing,  and  his  waist  line  showed  a  decided  increase. 
His  dapper,  clean-cut  figure  was  losing  its 
youthful  lines.  He  did  not  like  it  at  all,  but  he 
could  not  deny  it. 

"  Doc  Andy  done  took  on  a  middle-aged 
spread,  an'  I  done  took  on  a  ol'  age  shrink," 


100        Mammy's  White  Folks 

Mammy  would  say  as  she  neatly  inserted  a 
wedge-shaped  patch  in  the  waist-band  of  her 
master's  underwear.  "  I's  allus  a-lettin  him  out 
an'  takin'  myse'f  in." 

Dr.  Wallace's  shyness  had  not  decreased  as 
his  waist-band  increased.  The  dread  of  women, 
which  had  possessed  him  as  a  young  man,  still 
held  him  in  thrall.  A  woman  must  be  ill  for 
him  to  feel  at  ease  with  her.  This  the  Carleys 
could  not  understand.  They  were  constantly 
asking  him  to  come  to  parties  and  dinners  and 
suppers,  and  Mrs.  Carley  seemed  to  feel  it  a 
duty  she  owed  to  society  to  find  a  suitable  per 
son  for  their  beloved  family  physician  to  marry. 
Whenever  Dr.  Wallace  had  been  inveigled  into 
accepting  one  of  her  invitations,  she  usually 
managed  to  have  some  young  woman  on  hand 
who  she  had  decided  would  be  exactly  the  right 
person. 

"  Esther  would  be  much  better  off  with  a 
step-mother,"  she  declared  for  at  least  the  hun 
dredth  time  in  the  fifteen  years  of  her  acquain 
tance  with  the  Wallaces.  Indeed,  a  hundred  is 
a  low  estimate.  For  five  years,  at  least,  it  had 
been  almost  a  daily  remark  and  at  times  an 
hourly  one  when  the  subject  was  uppermost  in 
her  mind. 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  say  that.    I  never  have 


Esther  Meets  a  Fairy  Prince   101 

seen  why  you  should  say  it,"  contended  Mr. 
Carley.  "  Do  you  think  Marian  would  be  better 
off  with  a  step-mother?  " 

"  That  is  different.  Marian  has  a  mother  of 
her  own." 

"  But  I  mean  in  case  —  " 

"  Now,  Mr.  Carley,  you  are  very  rude  even 
to  suggest  such  a  terrible  thing.  I  just  know 
I  won't  be  cold  before  you  will  be  looking 
around  for  another  wife !  "  sniffed  Mrs.  Carley. 

"  Why  shouldn't  I  as  well  as  Wallace? " 

"  But  that  is  different,"  she  reiterated.  "  Mrs. 
Wallace  has  been  dead  fifteen  years." 

'  Yes,  and  fifteen  years  ago  you  began  trying 
to  marry  off  Wallace  to  all  the  females  of  your 
acquaintance.  I  hope  this  evening  you  have  not 
asked  any  woman  to  make  him  miserable." 

'  Well,  not  to  make  him  miserable  but  to 
help  entertain  him  —  I  have  asked  Mrs.  Rich 
ards  and  her  daughter  Lucile." 

'  Who  on  earth  are  they?  " 

"If  you  ever  listened  when  I  talked,  you 
would  know!  Mrs.  Richards  is  a  charming 
woman  who  has  lately  come  into  our  church. 
She  is  a  widow  —  " 

"Ah,  I  thought  so!" 

"  Poor,  but  so  deserving,  and  very  pretty, 
and  quite  a  lady!  " 


102         Mammy's  White  Folks 

"  I  have  always  noticed  when  a  person  is 
spoken  of  as  '  quite  a  lady/  she  is  usually  not 
quite  one,"  teased  the  husband.  "  Poor  Wal 
lace!"  « 

"  Poor,  indeed !  Mrs.  Richards  would  make 
him  an  excellent  wife.  She  has  brought  up 
her  own  daughter  so  well  that  she  would  be  sure 
to  make  Esther  a  good  step-mother,  too." 

"  In  my  opinion  Esther  has  been  very  well 
brought  up.  She  has  excellent  manners  —  quite 
as  good  as  Marian's  —  better  in  fact.  Nobody 
would  ever  think  of  saying  Esther  was  *  quite 
a  lady.'  It  goes  without  saying  where  Esther  is 
concerned.  Blood  will  tell." 

Nothing  irritated  Mrs.  Carley  so  much  as  her 
husband's  frequent  affirmations  that  blood  would 
tell.  What  it  would  tell  was  not  quite  clear  in 
her  mind,  but  she  was  sure  that  the  fluid  that 
flowed  in  her  veins,  if  put  to  the  test,  would  not 
show  up  as  blue  as  could  be  wished.  She  en 
joyed  greatly  the  wealth  that  had  come  to  her 
husband  through  the  anti-kink  lotion,  but  she 
resented  bitterly  the  channel  through  which  the 
wealth  came.  She  also  resented  her  husband's 
constant  reference  to  his  successful  business. 
Sometimes  she  even  resented  the  name  of  Car- 
ley.  It  was  so  like  "  curly,"  she  was  sure  ill-bred 
persons  made  jokes  about  it. 


Esther  Meets  a  Fairy  Prince    103 

"  Daddy,"  said  Esther  as  she  and  her  father 
approached  the  Carleys'  mansion,  "  Every  time 
I  come  here  I  am  glad  we  live  where  we  live 
instead  of  somewhere  else.  The  Carleys  live 
in  such  a  shiny  house.  It  hurts  my  eyes.  Even 
their  flower  beds  are  too  shiny  with  geraniums 
and  scarlet  sage.  And  no  sooner  do  you  get 
used  to  the  flowers  than  a  florist  comes  and 
grubs  them  all  up  and  puts  something  else  there. 
The  Carleys  are  foreverlastingly  changing 
things  —  cooks  and  wall-paper  and  flowers  and 
friends.  Of  course  they  always  stick  to  us,  but 
they  are  so  terribly  fond  of  us  and  we  are  fond 
of  them,  too.  I'm  not  foolish  over  Mrs.  Carley, 
but  I  really  think  she  means  well  in  spite  of 
her  silly  ways.  Sometimes  I  wonder  if  Mr. 
Carley  doesn't  wish  the  cook  would  stay  and 
Mrs.  Carley  would  go." 

The  doctor  laughed  as  he  expressed  hearty 
agreement  with  Esther. 

"  She  is  kind,  though,  honey,  you  must  never 
forget  that.  I  reckon  poor  Carley  has  to 
remember  it  pretty  often." 

*  That  is  the  worst  thing  about  her  —  her 
kindness.  It  makes  one  like  her,  even  when  she 
is  being  the  biggest  kind  of  a  goose.  Now  Mr. 
Carley  is  a  perfect  duck.  I  reckon  that  is 
where  Marian  gets  her  duckiness.  If  it  had 


KM:         Mammy's  White  Folks 

been  left  to  her  mother  she  might  have  been 
hatched  out  nothing  but  a  goose.  Sometimes 
I  think  maybe  Marian  isn't  Mrs.  Carley's  own 
child.  She  isn't  a  mite  like  her.  She  might  be 
a  changeling.  The  fairies  might  have  come  in 
the  night  and  carried  off  the  little  goose  and 
put  a  duck  in  its  place.  Or  maybe  she  is  a 
foundling.  She  may  have  been  left  on  the 
Carleys'  doorstep." 

"  Tut,  tut! "  exclaimed  the  doctor  in  a  tone 
almost  angry.  "  You  mustn't  say  such  things!  " 

"  I'm  not  saying.  I'm  just  surmising," 
laughed  Esther. 

Dr.  Wallace  pinched  her  cheek  and  rang  the 
Carleys'  bell.  The  door  was  opened  by  a  brand 
new  butler  who  ushered  them  into  the  drawing- 
room  which  had  recently  been  changed  from  a 
blue  room  to  a  yellow  room.  The  furniture  was 
either  new  or  had  been  re-upholstered,  and  the 
pictures  were  so  changed  about  that  Esther  was 
almost  sure  she  was  in  the  wrong  house  until 
Marian  came  running  in  to  greet  her. 

"Dr.  Wallace,  Father  says  please  come  back 
to  his  den.  He  simply  hates  this  new  paper. 
He  says  it  swears  at  everything  in  the  room,  so 
he  feels  at  liberty  to  swear  at  it.  What  do  you 
think  of  it,  Esther?" 

"  Well.    I    just    got    used    to    the    blue    and 


Esther  Meets  a  Fairy  Prince    105 

felt  kind  of  at  home  with  it,"  admitted  Esther 
rather  hesitantly. 

"  Same  here !  And  oh,  Esther,  darling', 
Mother  has  gone  and  invited  some  more  people 
to  supper.  Father  and  I  are  furious,  but  we 
don't  say  so  to  Mother.  Of  course,  she  did  no* 
know  how  much  I  wanted  to  see  you,  and  how 
much  Father  wanted  to  talk  to  Dr.  Wallace 
alone." 

"  Of  course  not! "  was  Esther's  polite  rejoin 
der.  "  And  I've  been  dying  to  see  you, 
Marian  —  simply  dying.  I've  got  the  most 
wonderful  news!  I've  seen  the  prince!  " 

"What  prince?" 

'  Why,  the  prince  —  the  one  in  the  stories!  " 

"  Ohf" 

"  It  was  in  the  forest  —  not  exactly  the  for 
est,"  she  corrected  herself  as  she  noticed 
Marian's  matter-of-fact  astonishment,  "  but  the 
little  grove  of  trees  in  the  corner  of  Fleet's 
lawn.  Old  Mrs.  Fleet  was  ill  and  I  had  gone 
over  there  with  Daddy  in  his  car.  While  he  was 
curing  her  I  picked  some  daisies  and  climbed  up 
in  a  mulberry  tree  to  make  a  daisy  chain.  And 
while  I  was  sitting  there  I  got  to  thinking  about 
the  seven  princes  who  were  turned  into  seven 
swans,  and  the  little  princess  who  had  to  make 
seven  shirts  out  of  starry  flowers  so  she  could 


106         Mammy's  White  Folks 

break  the  spell  on  her  brothers.  You  remember 
she  couldn't  crack  a  smile  or  say  a  word  until 
they  were  finished? " 

"  I  remember." 

"  And  while  I  was  sitting  there  making  the 
chain,  and  thinking  how  hard  it  would  be  to 
weave  a  shirt,  and  wondering  if  the  little  prin 
cess  had  some  spell  that  kept  the  star  flowers 
fresh  while  she  worked  —  all  of  a  sudden  he 
came! " 

"Who  came?" 

'Why,  the  prince!  He  was  walking  along 
the  lane  that  runs  by  the  for  —  the  little  grove 
of  trees,  and  he  was  whistling,  not  a  loud,  shrill 
whistle,  but  very  soft  and  low,  and  then  he 
began  to  sing: 

*  I  want  no  kingdom  where  thou  art,  love, 
I  need  no  throne  to  make  me  blest 
While  I  have  thee,  sweetheart,  beside  me, 
While  I  gaze  in  your  dear  eyes.' 

I  think  that  is  the  way  it  went  but  I  am  not 
quite  sure.  I  almost  fell  out  of  the  tree  I 
thrilled  so.  I  was  awfully  afraid  he  was  going 
to  look  up  in  the  tree  and  see  me,  but  I  wanted 
him  to  just  the  same.  Marian,  he  is  the  hand 
somest  prince  you  ever  saw!  " 


Esther  Meets  a  Fairy  Prince   107 

*  That  isn't  saying  much  as  I  never  saw  a 
single  one  in  all  my  life.  But  did  he?  Did  he 
look  up  ? " 

'  Yes,  he  looked  up  and  then  stopped  singing 
and  bowed  low  —  like  this.  He  had  on  a 
Panama  hat,  but  I  give  you  my  word,  Marian, 
he  took  it  off  exactly  as  though  it  had  sweeping 
plumes. 

"  '  Fair  maid,'  said  he,  '  I  am  lost  in  the  — 
forest.  Will  you  please  tell  me  which  road  to 
take  to  find  the  castle,  or  rather  the  —  country 
club?'" 

"  What  did  you  say?  " 

'  Well,  you  see,  I  was  pretending  I  was  the 
princess  who  was  making  shirts  for  swans,  so  I 
said  nothing  and  I  tried  hard  not  to  smile.  But 
I  put  my  finger  on  my  lips  to  let  him  know  I 
was  dumb.  He  looked  so  sad  and  sympathetic, 
and  then  he  put  his  hand  on  top  of  the  fence 
and  vaulted  over  it  just  as  easy  as  a  circus  actor. 
And  he  came  right  close  up  under  the  twisted 
mulberry  tree.  I  was  on  the  lower  limb  and  his 
face  was  on  a  level  with  mine.  He  is  a  very  tall 
prince.  He  took  hold  of  one  end  of  the  daisy 
chain,  and  all  of  a  sudden  he  stopped  looking 
sympathetic  and  smiled  and  then  he  laughed 
and,  oh,  Marian,  his  teeth  are  good  enough  to 
be  false!  Then  he  bowed  low  again  and  said: 


108         Mammy's  White  Folks 

'  Fair  maid,  I  see  that  thou  art  making 
seven  shirts  of  star  flowers  for  seven  swans,  thy 
brothers.  And  the  magic  will  work  only  if  you 
neither  speak  nor  smile  while  you  sew  the  shirts. 
Far  be  it  from  me  to  break  the  spell.  My 
kingdom  is  afar  off.  I  am  a  king,  at  least  a 
prince,  and  by  the  fineness  of  your  golden  hair, 
by  the  curve  of  your  cheek  and  the  beauty  of 
your  eyes  I  know  that  thou  art  a  princess.  But 
were  you  a  begger  maid  I  would  still  ask  you  to 
let  me  return  some  day  and  take  you  to  my  king 
dom.  Do  not  speak  but  merely  bow  your  head." 

"  And  what  did  you  do?  "  Marian  was  getting 
excited. 

'  Would  you  believe  it,  Marian  Carley,  I 
sneezed!  The  pollen  from  the  daisies  had  got 
up  my  nose,  and  I  sneezed  so  terribly  that 
I  almost  fell  out  of  the  tree.  I  was  terribly 
mortified  —  the  idea  of  doing  such  a  thing  at 
such  a  moment !  " 

"  Did  the  prince  laugh?  " 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it !  A  true  prince  would  not 
laugh  at  such  a  thing.  He  looked  sad  and  sympa 
thetic  again,  and  lent  me  his  handkerchief 
although  I  didn't  need  it." 

"  How  did  he  know  you  were  just  playing 
dumb?" 

"  I  think  maybe  it  was  because  I  said  '  Ouch ! ' 


Esther  Meets  a  Fairy  Prince    109 

when  a  little  briar  I  had  picked  with  the  daisies 
stuck  in  my  finger." 

"Do  you  reckon  you'll  ever  see  him  again? " 

"  Of  course !  He  is  coming  back  for  me  after 
a  year  and  a  day.  He  said  so." 

Marian  laughed.  Sometimes  her  matter-of- 
factness  was  put  to  a  severe  strain  by  Esther's 
fancifulness. 

Mrs.  Carley's  other  guests  arrived  and  the 
new  butler  announced  supper.  The  hostess, 
seated  at  the  head  of  her  glittering  table  in  the 
newly  decorated  dining-room,  looked  with  sat 
isfaction  on  the  assemblage.  There  was  nothing 
Mrs.  Carley  enjoyed  so  much  as  what  she  called 
"  a  gathering."  The  table  was  resplendent 
with  burnished  silver  of  the  latest  pattern, 
wherein  the  gorgeous  floral  decoration  in  the 
center  of  the  board  was  reflected  in  a  variety 
of  hues  and  shapes.  The  china  was  just  bought, 
—  purchased,  doubtless,  because  of  its  extreme 
newness  in  design  and  color.  The  newness  of 
the  table  linen  was  proclaimed  by  its  extreme 
stiffness.  Seated  near  the  hostess  were  Mrs. 
Richards  and  her  daughter,  Mrs.  Carley's  new 
est  friends.  The  cook  —  a  recent  acquisition - 
was  sure  to  put  forth  her  best  efforts,  as  is  the 
way  with  cooks  as  well  as  with  brooms.  The 
butler  was  new  and  very  alert  and  capable. 


110         Mammy's  White  Folks 

The  only  fly  in  the  ointment  was  that  the  butler 
unmistakably  had  been  applying  to  his  own 
woolly  head  the  lotion  that  made  it  possible  for 
his  mistress  to  indulge  herself  so  freely  in  the 
matter  of  table  and  wall  decorations.  His  kinky 
hair  evidently  had  had  a  recent  treatment,  and 
was  as  straight  as  an  Indian's.  Each  black  hair 
stood  on  end  trembling  with  outraged  dignity  as 
the  man  darted  rapidly  around  the  table,  leaving 
a  trail  of  strong  scent  in  his  wake. 

"Doesn't  he  look  like  a  ceiling  brush?" 
Marian  whispered  to  Esther,  who  wanted  to 
giggle  but  caught  Mrs.  Richards's  eye  and 
thought  better  of  it.  His  head  certainly  did 
look  as  though  it  had  been  intended  for  house- 
cleaning  purposes. 

Mrs.  Richards  and  her  daughter  Lucile  were 
certainly  all  that  Mrs.  Carley  had  claimed  for 
them.  They  were  a  handsome  pair,  and  both  of 
them  seemed  quite  willing  to  make  themselves 
as  agreeable  as  the  occasion  required.  Mrs. 
Carley  did  all  in  her  power  to  bring  to  Dr. 
Wallace's  notice  the  general  agreeability  of  the 
desirable  widow,  but  Dr.  Wallace  turned  a  deaf 
ear  and  a  blind  eye  to  her  machinations.  As 
for  Mrs.  Richards,  she  seemed  to  divine  that 
the  physician  was  shy,  and  so  she  confined  her 
attentions  to  his  daughter. 


Esther  Meets  a  Fairy  Prince    111 

Esther,  with  a  perverseness  for  which  she 
could  not  account,  refused  to  respond  to  the 
advances  of  her  fellow  guest. 

"  I  don't  like  her!  I  don't  like  her!  "  she  said 
to  herself.  "  Why,  I  don't  know,  but  I  just 
don't." 

Her  feeling  for  Lucile  was  quite  different. 
Marian  and  Esther,  from  their  fifteen  years, 
looked  up  with  admiration  at  Lucile's  eighteen, 
while  that  young  woman,  from  her  great  age, 
viewed  with  amused  tolerance  the  irrepressible 
giggles  that  occasionally  assailed  the  younger 
girls;  but  with  admirable  restraint  she  concealed 
her  condescension. 

In  Lucile  Richards'  handsome  black  eyes 
was  an  expression  of  mingled  repression  and 
ambition.  The  girl  had  had  a  hard  life  and  it 
was  mirrored  in  her  eyes.  Poverty  and  a  hand- 
to-mouth  existence  had  been  the  rule  rather 
than  the  exception  during  her  eighteen  years, 
the  last  two  of  which  had  been  spent  as  a  pupil- 
teacher  in  a  fashionable  school  in  New  York. 
Hers  had  been  the  task  to  coach  the  stupid, 
backward  children  of  the  rich,  and  for  her 
labors  she  had  received  her  board  and  tuition, 
a  well-earned  recompense.  Girls  bored  Lucile, 
especially  girls  of  fifteen.  She  resented  deeply 
the  care-free  childhood  and  girlhood  of  most  of 


112         Mammy's  White  Folks 

the  girls  of  her  acquaintance.  Why  should  they 
have  so  much  and  she  so  little?  Why  should 
she  have  to  make  herself  agreeable  whether  she 
felt  like  it  or  not?  Others  did  not.  It  was  plain 
to  see  that  this  doctor's  daughter  did  not  like 
her  mother  and  made  no  effort  to  be  pleasant 
to  her.  But  she,  Lucile  Richards,  must  smile 
and  smirk  and  be  pleasant  at  all  times.  She 
longed  intensely  for  the  freedom  to  be  as  dis 
agreeable  as  she  chose:  a  strange  ambition, 
perhaps,  but  one  that  naturally  might  have 
developed  from  a  youth  of  forced  smiles. 


Chapter  10 
BRANCHING  OUT 

To  the  disgust  of  Mrs.  Carley,  Mr.  Carley 
was  succeeding  as  usual  in  monopolizing  Dr. 
Wallace.  What  was  the  use  in  asking  suitable 
widows  to  meet  her  family  physician  if  his 
attention  was  entirely  engrossed  by  his  host? 
By  straining  her  ears  she  could  catch  bits  of 
the  conversation  carried  on  by  the  two  men. 
Some  of  it  irritated  her,  but  at  some  of  it  she 
smiled.  This  was  what  irritated  her: 

"  See  here,  Wallace,  you  are  not  looking  very 
fit!" 

"  Nor  feeling  fit  either!  " 

"  Now,  old  fellow,  you  know  I  am  some 
straightener  —  made  my  fortune  straightening 
things  —  am  still  making  it  —  piling  it  up! 
Now,  if  I  am  such  an  adept  at  straightening 
wool,  I  wish  you  would  let  me  make  some  sug 
gestions  to  you  concerning  your  affairs." 

Why  should  the  man  always  be  bringing  in 
his  anti-kink  business?  Mrs.  Carley  frowned 
and  sniffed  suspiciously  as  the  butler  bore  down 
upon  her  bearing  a  dainty  dish. 

113 


114         Mammy's  White  Folks 

"  Fire  away!  "  laughed  the  doctor.  "  I  need 
some  advice." 

"  You  work  too  hard." 

"  I  know  that,  but  what  am  I  to  do?  " 

"  In  the  first  place,  you  must  get  an  assistant 
—  some  young  and  promising  doctor  who  will 
be  glad  of  the  chance  to  hitch  on  to  your  coat- 
tails.  Your  practice  warrants  it." 

"Yes,  that's  so." 

Mrs.  Carley  smiled  at  this  point.  It  might 
be  very  pleasant  to  have  a  nice  young  man  in 
the  immediate  neighborhood.  So  convenient 
for  Marian  and  Esther,  now  that  they  were 
growing  up! 

"  Yes,  you  must  have  an  assistant,"  Mr. 
Carley  proceeded.  *  You  must  also  have  a 
chauffeur.  Why,  man,  you  waste  half  your 
strength  attending  to  your  car." 

"Maybe  so!" 

"Also,  vou  must  have  an  office  attendant. 

*  V 

Why,  man,  you  might  be  a  country  doctor  in 
the  dark  ages  for  all  the  conveniences  you  have. 
What  doctor  of  your  practice  do  you  know  who 
puts  up  with  a  one-room  office  and  nobody  but 
an  old  darkey  to  answer  the  telephone?  Branch 
out,  man!  Branch  out!" 

"  I  don't  want  to  branch  out,"  groaned  the 
doctor.  "  I  am  quite  content  as  I  am." 


Branching  Out  115 

"  Nonsense!  Nonsense!  "  exclaimed  the  ener 
getic  straightener  of  things.  "  If  a  practice  will 
grow,  it  will  grow,  and  nothing  but  death  will 
stop  it.  The  thing  is  to  take  care  of  its  growth. 
When  a  boy  begins  to  grow,  keeping  him  in 
short  pants  isn't  going  to  keep  him  from  grow 
ing.  He'll  burst  out  of  them,  and  the  only 
decent  thing  to  do  is  get  him  some  big  enough 
for  him.  Your  practice  has  passed  the  short 
pants  stage  now,  and  it  is  up  to  you  to  clothe  it 
properly.  Think  it  over,  man,  think  it  over! 
First,  an  assistant;  then,  a  chauffeur.  Then 
build  an  extra  room  on  your  house  if  you 
haven't  space  for  another  office;  and  then  an 
office  attendant  to  give  tone  to  the  place  and 
see  that  the  telephone  is  properly  answered  and 
your  accounts  kept,  and  so  forth.  I  bet  enough 
money  is  owed  you  this  minute  to  pay  for  the 
new  office  and  the  attendant's  wages  for  a  year, 
all  because  you  haven't  sent  out  your  bills." 

Dr.  Wallace  looked  sheepish.  He  was  slow 
in  getting  out  his  bills.  There  was  no  deny 
ing  it. 

"  Another  thing,  you  need  exercise  —  golf, 
tennis,  walking,  anything  to  keep  you  young. 
I'm  ten  years  older  than  you  are,  and  no  one 
would  believe  it  to  look  at  us.  Why  is  it? 
Because  I  don't  try  to  run  my  business  by  my- 


116         Mammy's  White  Folks 

self.  I  get  good  men  under  me  and  pay  them 
to  do  the  work." 

Mrs.  Carley  could  hardly  attend  to  her  guests, 
so  busy  was  she  trying  to  catch  all  that  her 
husband  was  saying  to  her  physician. 

She  was  sure  she  knew  exactly  the  right 
chauffeur  for  the  doctor  and  could  send  him  an 
office  attendant  who  would  fill  the  bill  per 
fectly.  There  was  nothing  that  that  good  lady 
liked  better  than  to  manage  other  persons' 
affairs,  and  now  a  wonderful  opportunity  was 
presenting  itself. 

When  Dr.  Wallace  reached  home  he  called 
Mammy  and  Esther  to  him  and  told  them  what 
his  neighbor  had  said  to  him. 

"  It  is  the  truth,"  he  sighed.  "  I  am  getting 
old,  and  actually  find  myself  falling  asleep  in 
my  chair.  I  don't  like  it  at  all.  Maybe  if  I 
got  some  help,  I  could  find  time  for  golf  or 
something,  and  it  might  help  some.  I  wish 
Carley  had  let  me  alone,  though.  I  was  getting 
on  well  enough  before  he  put  such  notions  in 
my  head." 

"  Lawsamussy,  Doc  Andy,  don't  git  ter 
talkin*  that  er  way.  'Taint  never  too  late  ter 
patch  things  up.  When  folks  git  ter  resentin' 
bein'  'sturbed,  they  'minds  me  er  a  ol'  man  I 
knowed  onct  what  wa'n't  perzactly  crazy  but  ho 


Branching  Out  117 


had  loose  notions.  He  useter  git  it  in  his  haid 
he  wa'  a  settin'  goose,  an'  ev'y  time  anybody 
tried  ter  stir  him  up  he'd  hiss.  Don't  take  ter 
hissin',  Doc  Andy,  don't  do  it ! " 

And  so  it  was  decided  that  Dr.  Wallace  was 
to  procure  an  assistant  in  the  shape  of  a  young 
doctor.  And  since  Mammy  refused  to  have 
help  from  her  own  race,  a  young  woman  must 
be  found  to  look  after  the  office;  also,  a  chauf 
feur  was  to  be  hired,  and  an  addition  built  to 
the  old  house  to  make  more  office  room. 

Esther  resented  bitterly  the  additions  to  the 
household  and  the  house. 

"  A  new  office  stuck  on  to  our  nice  old  house 
will  ruin  the  effect,  and  it  will  never  be  the 
same,"  she  wailed.  "  Before  you  know  it,  we 
will  be  looking  exactly  like  the  Carleys.  And 
what  do  we  want  with  a  horrid  young  doctor 
with  a  pimply  forehead  and  button  shoes  lolling 
around  in  our  house?  As  for  an  office  girl,  why 
can't  I  stop  school  and  attend  to  things?  I  can 
draw  and  paint  all  the  time  when  the  phone  isn't 
ringing  or  I  am  making  out  bills  and  things. 
The  patients  who  have  to  wait  would  make 
grand  models.  I  bet  anything  the  girl  you  get 
will  be  calling  up  beaux  on  the  phone  just  when 
people  are  being  born  or  dying  or  something 
and  trying  to  get  our  number.  I  am  sure  she 


118         Mammy's  White  Folks 

will  chew  gum  and  stick  it  in  little  wads  under 
the  desk.  The  only  thing  about  all  these 
changes  that  I  like  is  having  a  chauffeur.  I 
sha'n't  like  the  assistant.  I  just  know  it!  " 

Dr.  Wallace  laughed. 

"  Suppose  I  promise  that  my  assistant, 
whoever  he  may  be,  shall  not  have  a  pimply 
forehead,  and  that  I'll  be  particular  about  his 
footgear,  although  that  does  not  seem  so  very 
important  to  me." 

"  But  you  don't  know,  Daddy,  dear,  how 
terrible  it  is  for  your  assistant  to  wear  button 
shoes.  It  isn't  done." 

"  Ah,  I  see." 

"  I  know  you  are  overworked,  but  wouldn't  it 
be  better  just  to  see  the  very  ill  and  dying  and 
let  the  half -sick  persons  get  some  other  doctor?  " 

'  Yes,  but  Esther,  my  practice  would  soon 
go  at  that  rate.  If  all  of  my  patients  died  there 
wouldn't  be  any  left." 

"  But  you  might  take  little  new-born  baby 
cases,  too,  and  let  your  practice  grow  that  way. 
I  know  it's  the  people  who  pretend  to  be  sick 
that  wear  you  out.  Now,  isn't  it?" 

"Perhaps!  But  sometimes  those  persons 
who  pretend  to  be  ill  really  do  get  ill,  so  a 
physician  can't  afford  to  slight  them." 

"  I  reckon  I'll  have  to  put  up  with  an  assist- 


Branching  Out  119 

ant  then,  Daddy,  but  please,  please,  get  one 
who  can  be  the  prince  if  we  need  him  in  our 
plays.  Marian  simply  refuses  to  wear  tights 
any  more." 

"What  are  the  requisites  for  a  prince?" 

"  Shapely  legs,  or  rather  limbs  —  I  reckon  a 
prince's  legs  are  limbs  —  and  I  think  a  dimple 
in  his  chin  would  be  nice." 

"  Well,  I'll  do  my  best.  Now,  how  about  the 
office  girl? " 

"  Oh,  Daddy,  please  let  me  be  her  I  " 

"  Nonsense,  child!  You  are  only  fifteen  and 
must  go  to  school  at  least  four  years  more." 

"  Well,  if  I  must  submit,  I  must,  but  please, 
Daddy,  don't  get  a  girl  who  wears  beads  all  the 
time,  and  don't  let  her  say  Ma'am  to  me,  and 
don't  let  her  have  watery  eyes,  and  don't  let  her 
fall  in  love  with  the  prince.  She  won't  have  to 
live  here  like  the  assistant,  will  she?  " 

"  No,  oh,  no !  That  would  be  too  hard  on  us 
and  our  circle." 

Dr.  Wallace  had  made  a  name  for  himself 
in  his  profession,  and  when  it  was  known  that 
he  wanted  an  assistant,  an  embarrassment  of 
riches  was  poured  on  him  —  worthy  young 
doctors  recently  graduated  from  the  medical 
college,  and  hospital  internes  who  had  just  com 
pleted  their  period  of  training.  So  many 


120         Mammy's  White  Folks 

applied  it  was  difficult  to  choose.  All  of  them 
seemed  such  happy,  hopeful  youths,  so  ready 
and  willing  to  have  a  share  in  his  practice  that 
he  was  truly  sorry  not  to  take  every  one  of 
them.  Remembering  Esther's  stipulation  that 
the  assistant's  legs  must  be  shapely  so  he  might 
take  the  part  of  the  prince,  he  found  himself 
scanning  the  nether  ends  of  the  applicants  with 
such  diligence  that  he  was  sure  they  would 
think  he  was  as  embarrassed  with  young  men 
as  he  was  with  young  women. 

The  underpinning  belonging  to  Jim  Dudley, 
a  strapping  young  Kentuckian,  claimed  his 
attention.  No  doubt  they  would  look  well  in 
tights,  could  he  be  persuaded  to  don  them  — 
laced  shoes,  too!  But,  of  course,  something 
besides  mere  legs  was  necessary  if  he  was  to 
trust  the  young  man  with  a  share  of  his  prac 
tice.  He  glanced  tentatively  at  the  young 
doctor's  countenance.  It  was  quite  as  pleasing 
as  the  legs.  A  good  forehead,  no  pimples,  clear 
grey  eyes,  well-set  and  intelligent,  an  aristo 
cratic  nose,  a  humorous  mouth  which  laughed 
easily  and  disclosed  sound  even  teeth,  and, 
Heaven  be  praised,  a  firm  square  chin  that  was 
saved  from  aggressiveness  by  a  slight  cleft! 

"  I  fancy  it  was  a  dimple  when  he  was  a  kid," 
Dr.  Wallace  said  to  himself.  "  I  thmk  this  one 


Branching  Out  121 

will  do.  He  is  so  good-looking  I  can  sick  him 
on  the  female  hypochondriacs,  thereby  saving 
myself  a  world  of  trouble  and  embarrassment." 

Had  young  Dr.  James  Dudley  known  that 
his  legs  and  chin  had  been  instrumental  in 
obtaining  for  him  the  enviable  position  of 
assistant  to  the  much-sought-after  Dr.  Wallace, 
he  would  have  been  so  enraged  and  humiliated 
that  he  would  have  employed  those  said  legs 
to  carry  him  out  of  the  community  as  fast  as 
they  could. 

Jim  Dudley  had  never  given  more  than  a 
passing  thought  to  his  good  looks.  Of  course 
he  knew  he  was  over  six  feet,  and  that  his  legs 
and  back  were  straight,  and  he  was  glad  of  it, 
in  that  such  things  had  made  him  eligible  for 
various  athletic  sports  at  college.  He  also  knew 
that  the  fair  sex  looked  kindly  on  him.  And 
why  shouldn't  they?  He  certainly  looked  very 
kindly  on  them.  His  manner  with  all  women 
was  perfect.  Old  ladies  adored  him,  and  young 
ones  blushed  and  dimpled  at  his  approach.  Had 
he  known  that  he  was  thought  to  be  somewhat 
flirtatious,  the  knowledge  would  have  been  as 
much  of  a  mortification  as  the  knowledge  of 
Dr.  Wallace's  reasons  for  choosing  him  as  an 
assistant.  But,  truth  to  tell,  his  kindly  atten 
tion  to  women  was  too  general  to  put  him  in  the 


122         Mammy's  White  Folks 

category  of  a  flirt.  He  was  as  attentive  to  the 
grandmothers  as  to  the  granddaughters. 

At  the  age  of  twenty-five  he  was  more  en 
grossed  in  his  chosen  profession  than  in  all  the 
women  in  the  world.  He  had  ranked  well  in 
his  class  at  the  University.  After  graduation 
he  had  spent  a  year  in  a  hospital  in  New  York 
and  then  a  year  in  London,  and  now  he  had 
come  back  to  his  own  country  to  settle  down  and 
make  the  name  for  himself  that  he  felt  sure  of. 
His  outlook  was  certainly  encouraging:  well 
born,  well-educated,  happy  in  his  profession, 
anxious  to  serve,  and  now  his  big  opportunity 
had  come  to  him  almost  immediately  after  he 
had  decided  in  which  city  to  settle.  He  was 
also  singularly  blessed,  in  that  his  family  was 
rich  and  he  had  ample  means  so  that  he  was  not 
dependent  on  the  whims  of  hypochondriacs  for 
a  living. 

It  was  rather  hard  on  the  other  applicants, 
whose  limbs  were  not  so  shapely  and  whose  chins 
not  so  pleasing,  that  the  young  man  who  was 
already  so  well  endowed  with  the  world's  goods 
should  have  been  chosen  by  Dr.  Wallace.  How 
ever,  Jim  Dudley  was  as  much  of  a  favorite 
with  men  as  with  women,  and,  strange  to  say, 
nobody  seemed  to  bear  him  ill  will  for  being  so 
favored  of  Fortune. 


Branching  Out  123 

He  was  rather  nonplussed  when  he  found  out 
that  the  assistant  was  supposed  to  take  up  his 
abode  with  his  chief.  He  had  not  bargained 
for  that,  and  much  preferred  to  have  an  apart 
ment  of  his  own  in  the  neighborhood.  Dr. 
Wallace,  on  the  other  hand,  took  it  for  granted 
that  his  assistant  must  be  impecunious,  as  is 
generally  the  case  with  young  doctors,  and 
assumed  that  he  would  want  to  reduce  his  living 
expenses  as  much  as  possible.  He  had  looked 
into  Dr.  Dudley's  record  at  the  University,  and 
had  seen  his  diploma  from  London,  but  the 
young  man's  private  affairs  were  of  no  impor 
tance  to  him  and  he  never  thought  to  inquire 
into  them.  He  was  a  gentleman,  no  doubt 
of  that,  clean-living  and  courteous,  and  fit  to 
come  into  his  home. 

Dr.  Wallace  still  considered  his  Esther  a 
little  child,  and  the  thought  never  entered  his 
head  that  he  was  lacking  in  prudence  in  the  least 
in  bringing  this  amazingly  handsome  young  man 
into  his  home,  Esther  had  stipulated  that  his 
legs  must  be  fit  for  a  prince,  and  so  they  were; 
that  his  chin  must  sport  a  dimple,  and  behold  a 
cleft,  whkfo  was  a  near  dimple! 


Chapter  11 
DOCTOR  JIM  DUDLEY 

Esther  helped  Mammy  arrange  the  assistant's 
room.  Helping  Mammy  usually  meant  getting 
in  her  way  and  talking  to  her.  The  old  woman, 
like  most  capable  persons,  did  not  know  how  to 
be  helped,  but  lately  she  often  asked  Esther  to 
do  little  things  for  her,  which  the  girl  gladly  did. 

"  I's  still  strong  an'  well,  but  my  eyesight 
ain't  so  good  as  it  wa'  in  the  fus'  beginning. 
Now,  chiT,  you  jes'  peek  aroun'  an'  see  ifn  I's 
lef  any  dirt  a-stickin  ter  this  here  departmen'. 
Doc  Dudley  seems  ter  be  a  moughty  tidy  young 
man,  an'  I  don't  want  him  ter  come  here  an'  fin' 
us  a-wallowin  in  filth." 

"  It's  as  clean  as  clean  can  be,  Mammy,  but 
here's  a  floor-rag  under  the  bed  and  a  dust-pan 
on  the  table." 

"  Great  Gawd!  Jes'  s'pose  he  done  come  an' 
catched  us  alls  with  sech  things  a-goin  on! 
Here,  chil',  gib  'em  ter  me!  I'll  have  ter  count 
my  breshes  an'  rags  an'  sich  ter  see  I  ain't  lef 
none  er  them,  jes'  lak  Doc  Andy  say  they  have 
ter  do  whin  they  operate  'case  one  time  a 

124 


Doctor  Jim  Dudley  125 

spurgeon  done  sewed  up  his  spetickles  in  a  man's 
innards.  Now,  Miss  Esther,  please  git  a  clean 
scarf  for  the  booreau,  an'  don't  you  think  a  lil 
posey  in  a  vaste  on  the  table  would  be  kinder 
frien'ly  lak? " 

"  Why,  yes,  but  there  are  no  flowers  in 
bloom  yet  but  violets  and  I  haven't  time  to  pick 
a  bunch  of  them." 

"  You  mought  spare  him  one  of  Mr.  Peter's 
roses.  They's  as  fraish  as  they  wa'  on  yo'  buth- 
day,  'cause  I  done  kep'  'em  clipped  an'  changed 
the  water  constant." 

"  I  reckon  Peter  wouldn't  mind,"  and  Esther 
ran  off  to  get  a  rose  from  the  big  birthday 
bunch,  which  was  still  holding  its  own  after 
more  than  a  week. 

"  There! "  she  said  as  she  put  the  little  glass 
vase  on  the  table.  "  He  ought  to  be  right 
pleased  when  he  sees  what  a  nice  room  we  have 
fixed  up  for  him.  Mammy,  I'm  awfully  sorry 
he  is  so  old.  I  kind  of  hoped  Daddy  was  going 
to  get  a  right  young  man.  He  is  really  too  old 
to  play  the  prince.  Twenty-five  is  lots  too  old." 

"  Is  you  saw  him  yit?  " 

"  No,  but  Daddy  told  me  he  was  about 
twenty-five.  Why,  Mammy,  by  the  time  I  am 
twenty-five  I'll  be  an  old  maid,  or  maybe  mar 
ried.  Of  course,  he  will  do  to  play  the  prince 


126         Mammy's  White  Folks 

if  we  paint  all  the  deep  lines  out  of  his  face." 
'  Why,  chil',  twenty-five  ain't  ter  say 
Merthumselah. " 

"  No,  but  it  is  quite  middle-aged.  I  reckon 
I'll  have  to  be  real  respectful  to  him.*' 

Mammy's  faded  eyes  twinkled. 

"  I  reckon  you  will." 

Dr.  James  Dudley  was  pleasantly  surprised 
by  his  new  quarters.  He  was  installed  about  an 
hour  before  supper  on  an  evening  in  late  March. 
It  was  a  very  blustering  evening,  with  dashes  of 
rain.  His  trunk  had  been  delivered  earlier  in 
the  day;  also,  a  varied  collection  of  hat  boxes, 
bags  and  suit  cases.  These  were  piled  up  in  his 
room.  Mammy  grumbled  a  bit  over  the  quan 
tity  of  luggage. 

"  Anybody'd  think  he  wa'  the  Prince  er 
Wale  wif  all  these  bags  an'  baggages.  I  hope 
he  ain't  got  no  skelingtons  a  hid  in  them  taninks. 
I  reckon  it  ain't  been  so  long  since  he  wa'  a 
studient,  an'  I  don't  trus'  studients  til  they's 
been  doctors  long  ernough  ter  larn  how  ter 
*have.  When  I  sees  a  passel  er  medicine  stu 
dients,  all  er  them  a-trying  how  tougfc  they 
kin  be,  I  wonders  wha'  they  goes  when  they 
gradumates  an'  wha'  the  'spectabfe  doctors 
comes  from." 


Doctor  Jim  Dudley  '          127 

The  old  Grant  house  was  never  more  attract 
ive  than  when,  'in  Mammy's  phrase,  "  it  wa' 
weatherin'  outside."  There  was  an  air  of  hos 
pitality  and  cheer  in  its  very  lines.  Mammy 
believed  in  blazing  fires,  especially  when  com 
pany  was  coming,  and  Dr.  Dudley  was  to  be 
company  for  the  first  night  at  least. 

When  he  arrived,  it  was  a  little  early  for 
lamps,  but  the  soft  coal  grates  were  blazing 
merrily  away.  From  the  front  porch  he  could 
see  into  the  library,  and  before  he  rang  the  bell 
he  could  not  resist  peeping  into  the  fire-lit  room. 

Esther  was  seated  on  the  hearth  rug  hugging 
her  knees  and  gazing  in  the  fire  with  a  wrapt 
expression.  She  loved  to  sit  that  way  and  dream 
before  the  lamps  were  lit. 

"  I  wonder  how  old  she  is.  I  wonder  what 
she  is  thinking  about.  Whatever  it  is,  I  should 
not  be  rubbering  in  the  window  this  way,"  and 
the  young  man  stopped  his  musings  and  gave  a 
sharp  ring  at  the  bell. 

Esther  jumped  up  from  the  hearth  and  beat  a 
hasty  retreat.  The  coming  of  a  stranger  into 
the  household  was  very  disquieting  to  the  girl. 
She  hated  the  thought  of  having  someone  around 
all  the  time.  No  matter  how  nice  an  oH  gentle 
man  a  doctor  of  twenty-five  might  prove  to  be, 
he  was  nevertheless  a  stranger  and  an  intruder 


128         Mammy's  White  Folks 

in  their  home  circle.  He  must  be  a  fussy  old 
gentleman  besides,  or  he  would  not  have  so  many 
bags  and  hat  boxes  and  what  not.  It  was  a 
great  bore  to  be  dignified  and  wear  her  com 
pany  manners  all  the  time,  and  she  was  sure 
that  that  would  be  exacted  of  her  now  that  this 
stranger  had  come  among  them.  No  more  sit 
ting  on  the  floor  and  dreaming;  no  more  sliding 
down  the  banisters;  no  more  having  breakfast 
in  the  kitchen  on  dark  mornings  when  the  fire  in 
the  dining-room  had  a  way  of  smoking  and  she 
and  her  father  would  plead  with  Mammy  to  let 
them  eat  their  buckwheat  cakes  there;  no  more 
would  Mammy  serve  them  on  the  batter-cake 
turner  directly  from  the  stove  without  the  for 
mality  of  useless  cake  plates.  The  kitchen  had 
always  seemed  cheerful  and  bright,  even  when 
the  sun  did  not  shine.  All  that  sweet  homey 
life  was  over  now.  Mammy  would  not  think 
it  at  all  meet  to  have  a  strange  gentleman  eating 
breakfast  in  the  kitchen. 

She  wished  she  had  been  able  to  help  her 
father  pick  out  an  assistant.  She  was  sure  it 
had  not  been  done  well,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that 
her  suggestions  concerning  legs  and  chins  had 
been  complied  with,  also  button  shoes.  That 
must  be  the  new  doctor  at  the  door,  and  she  did 
not  like  his  manner  of  ringing  the  bell  at  all. 


Doctor  Jim  Dudley  129 

What  business  had  he  coming  to  their  house  like 
a  telegram?  She  was  sorry  she  had  put  one  of 
her  birthday  roses  in  his  room.  They  were 
Peter's  roses,  anyhow.  Perhaps  Peter  would 
not  like  her  giving  one  away.  If  she  had  time 
now,  she  would  run  up  and  take  it  out  of  the 
guest  chamber  which  she  and  Mammy  had  pre 
pared  so  carefully  for  this  person  who  was  so 
intent  on  breaking  up  their  happy  home.  If 
Mammy  would  only  think  it  was  the  telephone 
ringing  and  not  the  front  door  bell  and  answer 
the  former,  then  she  would  have  time  to  slip  up 
stairs  and  get  her  rose  back;  but  the  ringing  of 
the  bell  had  been  so  sharp  and  peremptory  that 
for  once  the  old  woman  made  no  mistake  and 
hastened  to  the  door. 

Esther  had  to  confess  that  his  voice  sounded 
quite  pleasant  as  he  spoke  to  Mammy,  apologiz 
ing  for  giving  such  a  sharp  ring. 

"  I  was  thinking  of  something  else  and 
pressed  the  button  harder  than  I  meant  to.  I 
hope  you  will  excuse  me."  Esther,  from  her 
refuge  under  the  stairs,  heard  him  vouchsafe 
this  explanation  to  Mammy  in  such  a  friendly 
tone  that  she  was  sure  the  old  woman  was  won 
over. 

"  Lawd,  sir,  I  don't  make  no  mind  fer  that. 
Wait  y,  minute  an'  I'll  call  Miss  Esther  to  show 


130         Mammy's  White  Folks 

you  yo'  room.  Miss  Esther !  Aw,  Miss 
Esther! "  But  Esther  hid  behind  her  father's 
great  coat  on  the  rack  under  the  stairs  and 
refused  to  harken  to  the  old  woman's  voice. 

"  Whar  that  chil'  ?  She  wa'  here  no  mo'n  a 
minute  ago.  Esther,  baby,  aw,  Miss  Esther! 
Nebber  min',  I'll  show  you  up,  sir." 

Mammy  had  spied  an  ominous  moving  under 
the  great  coat,  and  realized  that,  for  some  rea 
son,  her  child  was  hiding  and  was  opposed  to 
showing  the  gentleman  up.  The  old  woman  had 
the  truly  maternal  instinct  of  concealing  from 
the  world  at  large  any  faults  that  might  develop 
in  her  baby.  She  would  no  more  have  let  the 
young  man  know  that  her  Miss  Esther  was 
misbehaving  and  treating  him  rudely  than  a 
real  mother  would  have  done. 

In  her  heart,  the  wily  Mammy  had  already 
begun  her  plans  for  a  happy  marriage  for  her 
darling,  and  who  so  appropriate  as  this  young 
doctor  if  he  should  prove  to  be  all  that  her 
master  had  reported  him  to  be?  Esther  must 
marry  and  marry  happily.  Once  this  was 
brought  about,  if  the  fact  of  her  namelessness 
should  be  disclosed,  it  would  not  make  much 
difference.  Fifteen  was  not  so  very  young  to 
begin  planning. 

This  was  the  very  day.  fifteen  years  ago,  that 


Doctor  Jim  Dudley  131 

the  mysterious  bundle  had  been  left  on  their 
door-step.  It  was  a  lucky  day  for  them,  and 
this  stranger  arriving  on  the  same  day  was 
perhaps  a  good  omen.  This  flashed  through 
Mammy's  mind  as  she  courteously  showed  the 
young  man  up  to  his  room.  If  only  her  baby 
would  behave  herself  and  present  her  most 
charming  side  to  the  young  doctor!  Mammy 
would  not  admit  even  to  herself  that  all  of 
Esther's  sides  were  not  charming,  but  she  felt 
that  perhaps  some  moods  might  be  a  little  more 
desirable  than  others.  It  was  a  bad  begin 
ning  —  refusing  to  come  when  she  was  called  and 
hiding  behind  the  overcoat.  If  she  had  only 
managed  to  conceal  herself  more  completely  it 
would  not  have  been  so  bad,  but  her  slender 
legs  and  little  slippered  feet  had  been  in  plain 
view,  and  then  she  had  wiggled  at  the  wrong 
moment.  Mammy  was  almost  certain  the  guest 
had  seen  the  hat-rack  shaking  in  a  manner  most 
reprehensible  for  hat-racks.  He  may  even  have 
glimpsed  the  black  legs  that  did  not  in  the  least 
resemble  the  mahogany  ones  belonging  to  that 
piece  of  furniture,  and  one  would  be  blind 
indeed  who  confused  the  claw  feet  of  the  hat- 
rack  with  the  shiny  patent  leather  pumps  worn 
by  Esther. 

Mammy  was  sure  that  the  bad  beginning  was 


132         Mammy's  White  Folks 

due  to  have  a  worse  ending  when  Esther  failed 
to  appear  on  time  at  the  supper  table.  The 
flustered  girl  had  suddenly  decided  to  become 
grown  up,  and  had  raced  off  to  her  room  as 
soon  as  the  unwelcome  guest  was  safely  shut 
up  in  his  chamber.  Locking  her  door,  Esther 
had  unbraided  her  hair  and  with  trembling 
fingers  coiled  it  on  top  of  her  head.  Her  hair 
was  the  kind  of  hair  that  arranged  itself  almost 
without  effort,  being  full  of  unexpected  waves 
and  curls  like  a  mountain  stream.  There  was 
no  smoothing  it.  If  confined  at  one  point,  it 
found  its  way  out  in  ripples  at  another.  Look 
ing  at  her  image  critically  from  all  angles, 
Esther  could  not  but  be  pleased  with  the  effect. 

Now  she  could  appear  as  Lady  Disdain  before 
this  person  who  had  come  into  their  home.  She 
would  sail  in  to  supper  late,  holding  herself  with 
great  dignity.  She  could  wish  her  skirts  had 
been  a  little  longer.  It  was  difficult  to  be  dig 
nified  in  skirts  that  just  covered  one's  knees. 

"  Let  me  see!  How  much  of  a  hem  have  I?  " 
she  mused,  critically  examining  the  skirt  of  the 
soft  brown  crepe-de-chine  dress  she  had  donned 
for  supper. 

"A  good  six  inches!  That  will  help  a  lot." 
With  quick  snips  of  the  little  silver  scissors  she 
ripped  the  hem  and  shook  it  out. 


Doctor  Jim  Dudley  133 

"Mercy!  I  didn't  know  six  inches  would 
make  so  much  difference.  I've  pretty  near  got 
a  train,"  she  exclaimed,  joyfully.  "  I  reckon 
the  horrid  creature  won't  notice  that  there  is  a 
raw  edge  at  the  bottom  of  my  skirt.  I'll  face  it 
when  I  get  time."  Wherewith  she  began  to 
pace  back  and  forth  in  front  of  the  mirror  prac 
ticing  a  dignified  tread. 

"  I  must  turn  in  my  neck.  All  ladies  should 
wear  low-necked  gowns  to  supper."  With  the 
aid  of  pins,  she  lowered  the  round  neck  of  her 
dress  to  the  proper  decollete  line. 

The  supper  bell  had  sounded,  but  she  felt  her 
entrance  would  be  much  more  effective  if  she 
was  a  little  late.  She  would  make  this  person 
understand  that  she  did  not  hurry  for  him. 


Chapter  12 
A  FRIEND  IN  NEED 

There  was  one  thing  Mammy  would  not 
brook  in  her  family  of  white  folks,  and  that  was 
lateness  to  meals. 

'  Victuals  what  is  meant  ter  be  hot  gits  coF, 
an'  victuals  what  is  meant  ter  be  coF  gits  hot. 
If  Doc  Andy  is  off  'tendin'  ter  the  sick  an' 
sufFerin',  that  is  diffunt,  but  whin  folks  ain't 
got  nothin'  ter  do  but  come  eat  I  can't  see  no 
needcessity  whe'fo'  they  mus'  loit." 

On  this  evening,  when  Jim  Dudley  was 
installed  as  assistant  to  Dr.  Wallace,  Peter 
Roche  was  having  supper  with  them,  too.  Peter 
always  came  on  the  anniversary  of  his  god 
child's  advent  into  the  Wallace  household.  He 
seemed  to  drop  in  quite  casually,  and  quite 
casually  Mammy  always  had  what  she  called  a 
"  partified  supper."  By  careful  clipping  and 
attention,  the  birthday  roses  were  still  fresh 
enough  to  give  a  gala  air  to  the  table,  and  by 
skillfully  adding  an  extra  dish  or  so  to  the 
menu  Mammy  would  bring  the  meal  beyond 
the  standard  of  a  "  plain  home  supper." 

134 


A  Friend  in  Need  135 

Jim  Dudley  was  glad  his  lines  had  fallen  in 
such  pleasant  places.  He  liked  Dr.  Wallace 
from  the  start  —  liked  him  as  a  man  and  re 
spected  him  as  a  physician.  He  liked  the  com 
fortable  air  of  the  house,  and  above  all  he  liked 
the  kindly  old  servant  who  had  opened  the  door 
for  him  and  ushered  him  up  to  his  pretty  room 
with  its  antique  furniture  and  oval  rag  rugs. 
What  a  kindly  old  person  she  was,  so  anxious 
for  his  comfort  and  so  pleased  when  he  compli 
mented  his  room !  Her  faded  eyes  had  gleamed 
with  satisfaction  when  he  leant  over  and  smelt 
the  one  beautiful  rose  in  the  vase  on  his  table. 

"  What  a  wonderful  rose !  Might  I  wear  it 
in  my  button-hole?  " 

"  Sho,  you  kin! "  declared  Mammy,  delight 
edly. 

'What  is  your  name,  Aunty?"  inquired  the 
young  man  in  an  interested  tone. 

"  I'm  jes'  Mammy.  I  goes  by  the  name  of 
'Ria  Johnson,  but  I  comes  by  jes'  Mammy. 
Supper'll  be  ready  in  three  shakes." 

There  was  a  mysterious  transference  of  some 
thing  from  Jim's  hand  to  Mammy's  horny  palm, 
but  so  quickly  and  adroitly  was  it  accomplished 
that  had  the  room  been  full  of  eyes,  they  could 
hardly  hare  seen  what  was  going  on.  This 
established  the  young  doctor  in  the  good  books 


136         Mammy's  White  Folks 

/ 

of  the  old  woman.  Not  the  fact  that  be  tipped 
her  —  but  his  manner  in  so  doing. 

"  A  ge'man,  a  bawn  ge'man!  He  don't  let 
his  lef  han'  see  what  his  right  han's  a-doin,  let 
alone  all  the  neighbors  and  fainbly,"  she 
chuckled  to  herself  as  she  dished  up  the  supper. 

The  three  gentlemen  responded  to  tiie  supper 
bell  with  alacrity.  When  Peter  and  Jim  were 
introduced,  the  older  man  had  looked  at  the 
younger  with  a  searching  gaze  that  might  have 
put  him  out  of  countenance  had  he  not  been  at 
peace  with  the  world.  Jim  Dudley  had  nothing 
that  he  could  remember  to  be  ashamed  of,  so 
why  should  not  stern  middle-aged  lawyers  look 
at  him  as  though  he  were  in  the  witness  box  if  it 
gave  them  any  pleasure?  He  returned  the  gaze 
without  flinching.  A  mischievous  instinct  almost 
caused  him  to  wink  at  Peter  as  the  penetrating 
eyes  of  the  lawyer  looked  down  into  his  very  soul, 
but  a  certain  sincerity,  almost  solemnity,  of 
intentness  in  the  older  man's  expression  kept 
Jim  from  this  frivolous  demonstration  of  light- 
hearted  youth. 

Peter  dropped  his  eyes  finally.  Evidently, 
what  he  saw  deep  down  in  the  soul  of  Jim 
Dudley  pleased  him.  In  leaving  the  fresh 
beauty  of  the  young  man's  face  his  gaze  fell  on 
the  tea-rose  worn  so  debonairly  in  his  button- 


A  Friend  in  Need  137 

hole.  He  turned  away  abruptly,  his  face  and 
neck  suffused  with  crimson. 

Tea  roses  always  made  Peter  think  of  Esther, 
and  to  see  a  gay  handsome  young  man  wearing 
one  of  these  roses  in  his  button-hole  with  such 
nonchalance  was  more  than  the  sensitive  Peter 
could  bear. 

"  A  fool  I  Nothing  but  an  old  fool! "  he  took 
himself  to  task.  "  The  man  hasn't  even  seen 
Esther  yet,  more  than  likely,  and  here  I  am 
fancying  things  I " 

And  so,  when  the  supper  bell  sounded,  the 
three  men  responded  with  alacrity.  Jim  felt 
that  in  some  way  he  had  displeased  the  gentle 
man  whom  he  designated  in  his  mind  as  "the 
apoplectic  old  cove,"  and  their  host  had  a  notion 
that  his  friends  were  not  getting  along  quite  so 
well  as  he  might  wish.  Supper  would  looeen 
up  things  somewhat,  and  Esther  would  be  sure 
to  make  everybody  happy  and  comfortable. 

"  Where  is  Esther,  Mammy?  " 

"She  comin',  Doc  Andy,  she  comin'!" 

Dr.  Wallace  understood  very  well  from  her 
eager  tone  that  he  was  being  put  off.  Evi 
dently  Mammy  did  not  know  whether  Esther 
was  coming  or  not. 

The  guests  were  seated,  and  Mammy  uncov 
ered  the  tempting  dishes. 


138         Mammy's  White  Folks 

"  Jes*  holp  yo'selves,"  she  begged  in  her  most 
hospitable  voice.  "  I'll  leave  you,  Doc  Andy, 
ter  do  yo'  own  reehin'  an*  go  see  whar  Miss 
Esther  is." 

"  All  right,  Mammy,  we'll  do  our  best," 
laughed  her  master. 

"Esther,  chil'I  Miss  Esther,  baby!"  she 
called  up  the  stairs. 

"  Coining,  Mammy !  "  came  after  a  moment's 
delay. 

The  old  woman  went  back  in  the  room  with 
happy  assurance  written  on  her  old  face.  Her 
baby  was  not  going  to  misbehave  on  this  impor 
tant  occasion.  A  squeaking  swish  was  heard  in 
the  hall.  That  meant  Esther  was  expediting 
matters  and  making  up  for  lost  time  by  sliding 
down  the  banisters.  Perhaps  she  was  not  going 
to  be  as  lady-like  as  Mammy  would  have  her 
appear  at  this  meeting  with  the  handsome  yourf 
stranger.  If  only  the  child  could  know  how 
important  it  was,  this  first  impression! 

The  hall  door  opened  slowly  and  Esther  lit 
erally  sailed  into  the  room.  Her  little  head 
with  the  grown-up  chignon  was  carried  high 
with  queenly  hauteur.  Six  inches  on  the  end  of 
her  short  skirt  had  brought  it  down  to  her 
ankles. 

Mammy  gasped.     Peter's  mouth,  opened  to 


A  Friend  in  Need  139 

receive  a  fried  oyster,  remained  opened,  the 
oyster  balanced  on  his  fork.  Dr.  Wallace 
looked  anxiously  from  his  daughter  to  Mammy. 
What  were  the  women  folks  up  to? 

Jim  Dudley,  with  the  rare  intuition  that  en 
deared  him  to  the  sex  supposed  to  have  a  corner 
on  intuitions,  grasped  the  situation  in  a  moment. 
For  some  reason,  this  child  was  pretending  to 
he  grown-up.  Far  be  it  from  him,  Jim  Dudley, 
not  to  humor  her.  He,  too,  had  gone  through 
the  fairy  story  period  and  had  formed  a  picture, 
when  a  boy,  of  a  beautiful  princess  with  hair 
like  the  sunshine.  Here  she  was! 

"My  daughter,  Esther,  Dr.  Dudley,"  fal 
tered  poor  Dr.  Wallace. 

Esther  made  a  low  curtsy,  not  the  little  jerky 
kind  taught  to  children,  but  a  deep  slow  sinking 
kind  used  in  the  minuet.  She  had  practiced  it 
for  court  scenes  in  the  fairy-tale  plays,  and  had 
mastered  the  art  of  coming  down  very  grace 
fully,  sitting  on  one  foot  for  two  beats  of  the 
music  and  then  gradually  getting  up.  Cer 
tainly,  getting  down  gracefully  was  much  easier 
than  rising,  but  she  was  sure  she  could  do  both. 
However,  she  had  not  made  allowance  for  the 
six  extra  inches  on  her  skirt.  The  soft  clinging 
material  wrapped  itself  around  her  foot  and 
when  two  beats  were  up  she  could  not  budge. 


140         Mammy's  White  Folks 

O»  her  entrance  Jim  had  sprung  from  his 
iieat,  and  as  his  host  introduced  him  to  his 
daughter,  he  had  gone  forward,  not  in  the  least 
embarrassed  by  the  girl's  theatrical  advance  and 
curtey,  although  she  did  not  deign  to  look  at 
him.  He,  too,  as  a  youth,  had  danced  the 
minuet  and  acted  in  private  theatricals,  but 
whether  he  had  or  not,  Jim  Dudley's  social 
graces  would  have  stood  him  in  good  stead  when 
there  was  a  problem  of  conduct  to  be  faced.  No 
powdered,  bewigged  courtier  in  velvet  cloak  and 
plumed  hat  could  have  made  a  lower  bow.  With 
hand  on  heart  he  bent  over  as  gracefully  as  any 
prince  in  any  fairy  tale. 

It  was  a  little  awkward  when  his  fair  partner 
stayed  down  so  long.  The  cavalier  is  supposed 
to  bow  until  the  lady  gets  through.  "He  agreed 
with  Mammy  that  hot  food  should  not  be 
allowed  to  get  cold  nor  cold  food  hot,  but  no 
matter  how  much  he  longed  to  get  back  to  the 
good  supper  which  he  had  left  to  enter  into  the 
spirit  of  the  game  with  this  child,  etiquette  for 
bade  his  straightening  up  until  the  lady  finished 
curtsying. 

"  My  foot  —  caught  —  "  she  whispered  in  a 
tone  meant  for  him  alone. 

He  took  her  by  the  hand. 

"Arise,  princess!"     With  a  strong  pull  he 


A  Friend  in  Need  141 

helped   her   up,   and  with   an   adroit   kick  she 
loosened  the  imprisoned  foot. 

As  she  regained  her  footing  she  looked  for  the 
first  time  at  the  young  physician. 

"  The  prince !  "  she  gasped. 

"  Hast  thou  finished  the  seven  shirts  of  star 
flowers? "  he  asked,  taking  her  by  the  hand  and 
leading  her  to  her  seat.  No  waiter  on  a  Missis 
sippi  steamboat  could  have  pulled  back  a  chair 
with  a  more  elegant  air  than  did  Jim  Dudley. 
His  eyes  were  full  of  laughter,  but  he  kept  a 
sober  countenance  until  Esther  herself  burst 
into  a  hearty  ringing  laugh. 

"  Not  yet  —  and  oh,  the  poor  swans !  I  have 
broken  my  vow  of  silence  and  they  can  never  be 
free." 

"  Well,  please  don't  begin  all  over." 

"Just  think  that  you  are  him!" 

"  He!  "  corrected  Dr.  Wallace.  The  old  phy 
sician  had  observed  the  tableau,  but  he  did  not 
in  the  least  understand  what  Esther  and  his 
assistant  were  talking  about.  But  whatever  it 
was,  there  was  no  use  in  saying  "  him "  for 
"  he."  Esther  was  always  play-acting,  and  if  the 
young  doctor,  brought  into  the  household  to 
make  it  possible  for  him  to  play  golf,  wanted 
to  play-act  with  her,  why,  so  much  the  better. 
He  could  be  a  good  doctor  and  of  great  assist- 


142         Mammy's  White  Folks 

ance,  even  if  the  daughter  of  the  bouse  did 
choose  to  call  him  prince. 

It  was  settled.  Jim  and  Esther  were  friends. 
From  the  moment  he  put  out  his  strong  hand 
and  helped  her  disentangle  her  imprisoned  foot 
she  knew  she  was  going  to  like  him  —  even 
before  she  knew  he  was  the  prince  of  the 
twisted  mulberry  tree.  Had  he  saved  her  life, 
she  could  not  have  been  more  grateful.  To 
drown  in  the  ocean  could  not  be  any  more  ter 
rible  than  the  humiliation  of  the  position  from 
which  she  had  just  been  rescued,  especially  as 
she  had  meant  to  be  so  grown-up  and  dignified. 
Even  Peter  was  ready  to  laugh  at  her,  and 
Mammy  showed  plainly  that  she  highly  dis 
approved  of  such  carryings  on.  As  for  her 
father,  she  well  knew  he  would  have  teased  her 
unmercifully  had  things  not  turned  out  as  well 
as  they  did. 

"Hungry,  daughter?"  he  asked,  looking  at 
her  with  ill-concealed  admiration. 

"Starved!" 

She  forgot  all  about  being  grown  up. 

What  a  merry  time  they  had  at  that  supper! 
Peter  stopped  glaring  at  the  rose  in  Jim  Dud 
ley's  button-hole,  and  listened  with  interest  to 
that  young  man's  account  of  life  in  London. 
Esther's  advent  seemed  to  have  put  all  three 


A  Friend  in  Need  143 

men  at  their  ease.  Child  of  fifteen  though  she 
was,  she  had  a  rare  social  gift  —  the  gift  of 
making  people  comfortable  and  happy.  Some 
times  Dr.  Wallace  would  remember  what 
Mammy  had  said  when  the  baby  was  left  on  his 
doorstep  —  about  its  being  a  mascot  —  and  he 
wondered  if  it  could  be  true.  Would  good  luck 
always  follow  in  her  footsteps?  Would  it  be 
good  luck  for  her  as  well  as  the  persons  with 
whom  she  dwelt? 

Mammy  went  in  and  out  from  kitchen  to 
dining-room,  and  had  the  ones  at  the  table 
looked  at  her,  they  would  have  seen  a  touch  of 
elation  in  her  bearing. 

"  I  couldn't  er  planned  it  better,"  she  mut 
tered  when  she  was  out  of  earshot. 

"  You  wa'  scairt  ter  death,"  put  in  her  alter 
ego  of  the  querulous  tones. 

"  Scairt  1  'Co'se  I  wa'  scairt.  But  he  is  took 
wif  the  chiT  an'  she  is  done  los'  her  grudge 
'ginst  him.  Whin  she  come  a-prancin  in,  lookin' 
lak  her  clo's  wa'  a  comin'  off,  I  'lowed  she  done 
broke  her  'lasses  pitcher  then  an'  thar,  but  I  wa' 
mistook.  I  wa'  mistook.  Mascots  don't  nebber 
break  they  'lasses  pitchers  plum  in  two.  They 
drops  'em  an'  pretty  nigh  busses  'em,  but  they 
manages  ter  keep  from  crackin'  'em  open  some 
how.  Gawd  be  praised!" 


144         Mammy's  White  Folks 

'  Well,  I'm  edified  ter  hear  you  praisin' 
Gawd.  Looked  ter  me  lak  you  wa'  a-praisin  a 
ol'  nigger  woman  I  knows." 

"  Shot  Sho!  So  I  wa',  but  it  is  the  good 
Gawd,"  was  her  cheerful  rejoinder  as  she 
turned  out  a  mold  of  hot  Sally  Lunn  and  car 
ried  it  triumphantly  to  the  table. 


Chapter  13 
THE  TOO-PERFECT  ATTENDANT 

Mammy  was  certainly  growing  cantankerous. 
The  stream  of  young  girls  who  were  employed 
by  Dr.  Wallace  to  look  after  his  office  bore 
witness  to  the  fact.  They  stayed  such  a  short 
time,  either  because  they  did  not  suit  Mammy 
or  Mammy  did  not  suit  them,  that  the  poor 
doctor  never  could  remember  the  name  of  the 
incumbent. 

"  Call  they  selves  keepin'  keer  of  the  office! 
Huh!  If  sweepin'  dirt  under  the  rugs  an'  jes' 
slappin'  the  furnisher  with  a  dirty  rag  is  keepin' 
keer,  they  do  it,  an'  that's  'bout  all  they  do  do. 
I  been  allus  a-thinkin  nigger  gals  wa'  no  'count 
but  they  ain't  a  patchin'  on  white  gals." 

'  Well,  what  can  you  suggest? "  asked  Dr. 
Wallace,  wearily.  "  How  about  getting  a 
colored  boy?  He  could  help  you  and  look  after 
the  office  telephone,  too,  and  as  for  the  accounts, 
Dr.  Dudley  and  I  can  attend  to  them." 

"  Lawd  love  us,  Doc  Andy,  don't  git  no  lazy, 
triflin'  male  nigger  boy  here.  My  eyes  is  pretty 
near  give  out  as  they  is,  an'  if  I  got  ter  be 

145 


146         Mammy's  White  Folks 

a-spyin  arfter  a  nigger  boy,  they  won't  be  no 
seein'  lef  in  'em  'tall.  If  you  want  ter  know 
what  I  thinks  'bout  office  help,  I'll  tell  yer." 

"  I  do  want  to  know."  Doctor  Wallace  had 
infinite  patience  with  the  old  woman.  He  well 
knew  that  her  crossness  and  nervousness  were 
caused  by  the  condition  of  her  eyes.  The  cata 
racts  were  developing,  and  nothing  makes  one 
more  nervous  than  being  unable  to  see.  He 
hoped  that  the  time  was  near  when  he  could 
have  an  operation  performed  on  her  eyes,  and 
then  he  felt  sure  she  would  be  herself  again. 
In  the  meantime,  he  must  bear  with  her 
peculiarities.  He  was  more  than  willing  to 
employ  any  help  necessary.  In  fact,  he  begged 
her  to  let  him  get  a  cook  and  housemaid  to  look 
after  the  arduous  duties,  letting  her  superin 
tend  the  housekeeping,  but  she  would  not 
hear  of  it. 

"  Not  so  long  as  I  kin  crope  aroun'  an'  feel 
the  dirt  if  I  cyarn't  see  it,"  she  said.  "  I  knows 
how  ter  cook  in  the  dark  an'  'twon't  be  long 
now  'fo'  these  canteracks  will  be  ripe  fer  pullin'. 
It  does  look  hard  that  they  done  attackt  my 
good  eye,  too  —  the  one  I  been  all  time  a-seein 
with.  This  here  lef  eye  ain't  never  been  ter 
say  much.  'Cose,  I  kin  look  with  it  but  I  ain't 
never  been  able  ter  see  much  with  it.  The  right 


The  Too-Perfect  Attendant     147 

one's  allus  been  doin'  the  work  an'  now  it's  done 
got  inter  trouble. 

"  Now,  speakin'  of  office  help,  Doc  Andy,  if 
you  listen  ter  me  I'll  tell  you  what  is  the  male- 
faction  in  yo'  'rangements.  You  is  been  a-gittin 
gals  what  ain't  had  no  raisin'  ter  speak  of. 
They  thinks  they  is  too  good  ter  sile  they  han's, 
an'  still  they  ain't  got  since  enough  in  their 
haids  ter  make  a  livin'  wif  'em.  You  know,  that 
las'  one  what  call  herse'f  Immerjean  Maud 
couldn't  hardly  write  down  the  names  er  yo' 
patients,  but  was  allus  a  polishin'  up  her  nails 
an'  greasin'  up  her  mouf  wif  that  there  pink 
tallow  an'  hel'  herse'f  ter  be  too  good  ter  dus' 
off  the  mantel.  All  she  wanted  ter  do  was  fix 
herse'f  up  ter  catch  Doc  Dudley.  All  of  'em  is 
been  arfter  him,  tooth  an'  toe  nail." 

Doctor  Wallace  smiled.  It  was  plain  to  all 
beholders  that  the  many  office  girls  who  had 
come  and  gone  were  of  one  mind  concerning  the 
handsome  young  Kentuckian.  He  seemed  to 
be  the  only  one  unconscious  of  the  fact  that 
they  might  have  neglected  their  duties.  They 
never  neglected  him. 

Mammy  had  observed  this  and  sternly  dis 
approved  of  their  various  wiles.  She  had  a 
secret  fear  that  one  of  them  might  catch  the 
young  physician,  and  she  had  made  other  plans 


148         Mammy's  White  Folks 

for  him.    She  watched  with  delight  the  growing 
friendship  between  Esther  and  him. 

"  No  beau  lovin'  —  jes'  plain  gib  an'  take 
likin',"  she  would  say  to  herself.  '  The  bes' 
foundation  fer  matermony." 

But  should  one  of  these  wretched  office  girls 
catch  his  affections  before  her  baby  had  reached 
a  suitable  age  for  the  desirable  young  man, 
the  old  woman  felt  she  would  never  forgive 
herself.  At  any  moment  a  designing  wretch 
might  turn  up  who  would  snatch  the  prize  from 
under  the  very  nose  of  her  darling.  Mammy 
had  hit  on  a  solution  for  this  difficulty. 

"  Whe'fo',  Doc  Andy,  you  don't  stop  tryin' 
ter  git  a  gal  an'  git  a  growed-up  'ooman  what  is 
got  since  enough  in  her  haid  ter  use  her  ban's? 
That's  what  me  and  Mrs.  Carley  thinks. 
Th'  ain't  ter  say  much  wuck  ter  do  in  the  office, 
bein'  as  I  sees  that  it  gits  a  tho'eh  cleanin'  onct 
a  week,  an'  the  res'  of  the  time  jes'  a  lil  goin' 
over  wif  a  rag  is  all  that  is  'quired  an'  that  ain't 
needcessitatin'  much  stren'th.  I  reckon  they  is 
many  a  pleasant-faced  lady  what  is  seen  better 
days  who  wouldn't  min'  a-settin  thar  wif  her 
tattin'  an'  answerin'  the  phome  an'  makin'  out 
the  bills.  If'n  she  is  a  sho  nuf  lady  she'll  jes' 
nachelly  keep  things  tidy.  Mrs.  Carley  say 
she  knows  one." 


The  Too-Perfect  Attendant     149 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right,  Mammy.  I'll  see 
what  can  be  done." 

Dr.  Dudley's  coming  had  relieved  the  older 
man  somewhat,  but  the  practice  was  growing 
steadily  and  now  both  men  were  kept  busy.  An 
office  assistant  was  quite  necessary  to  them. 
The  young  girls  who  had  been  selected  from 
among  those  who  had  answered  the  newspaper 
advertisement  did  not  prove  any  more  satisfac 
tory  to  them  than  they  did  to  Mammy.  Per 
haps  an  older  woman  would  be  just  the  thing. 

He  determined  to  consult  Mrs.  Carley,  to 
that  lady's  huge  delight. 

"  Indeed,  I  do  know  the  very  person!  You 
know  her,  too  —  met  her  in  this  very  house. 
Don't  you  remember  Mrs.  Richards?  Such  a 
pleasant  person,  with  a  handsome  daughter 
named  Lucile!  Lucile  is  off  in  New  York 
teaching  at  such  a  fashionable  school.  She  is 
quite  a  clever  girl,  so  industrious  and  satisfac 
tory.  Her  mother  is  very  proud  of  her  daugh 
ter,  and  well  she  might  be.  Mrs.  Richards  is  a 
widow  and  so  deserving.  She  does  such  beauti 
ful  needlework  —  I  am  sure  she  would  be  the 
very  person  you  want." 

Dr.  Wallace  could  not  see  how  needlework 
would  help  him,  but  he  was  willing  to  take 
Mrs.  Carley's  word  for  it  that  Mrs.  Richards 


150         Mammy's  White  Folks 

was  the  person  of  all  others  to  fill  with  credit 
the  position  of  office  attendant  to  himself  and 
Dr.  Dudley. 

"  Surely  you  must  remember  her,  Dr.  Wal 
lace.  She  was  here  the  evening  Mr.  Carley 
persuaded  you  to  get  an  assistant,  a  chauffeur 
and  an  office  attendant.  She  was  quite  im 
pressed  by  Esther.  Raved  over  her,  in  fact. 
I  thought  at  the  time  that  Mrs.  Richards  would 
be  the  very  person  to  take  charge  of  your  office, 
but  she  had  a  position  at  the  time,  so  I  did  not 
mention  it.  I  remember  I  suggested  a  chauf 
feur  to  you  —  Mike.  I  do  hope  he  is  satis 
factory." 

"  Perfectly  so,  madam!  All  of  us  like  Mike. 
And  now,  if  you  will  see  this  lady  and  offer 
her  the  place  I  shall  be  more  than  grateful.  I 
am  sorry  I  can't  remember  her,  but  then  —  " 

"  Ah,  yes,  I  know,  Dr.  Wallace,  you  pay 
very  little  attention  to  well  women.  I'll  see  her 
immediately." 

Mrs.  Richards  accepted  with  alacrity  and  in 
short  order  was  installed  as  office  attendant. 
She  was  a  handsome  woman  of  about  forty. 
There  was  a  nun-like  simplicity  about  her  neat, 
perfectly-fitting  gowns.  Her  manner  was  quiet, 
with  a  certain  poise  and  dignity.  She  did  little 
talking  but  attended  assiduously  to  her  duties. 


The  Too-Perfect  Attendant     151 

The  office  was  spotless;  the  accounts  were 
kept  with  perfect  accuracy;  the  telephone  was 
answered  courteously,  and  information  was 
given  in  a  thoroughly  business-like  way.  Mrs. 
Richard's  manner  to  her  employer  left  nothing 
to  be  desired.  She  divined  his  feelings  in  regard 
to  women  and  his  embarrassment  in  their 
presence,  and  was  careful  to  efface  herself  as 
much  as  possible.  She  never  addressed  him 
unless  she  had  some  business  to  discuss  with  him, 
and  then  she  approached  him  with  quiet  dignity 
and  modesty.  When  she  was  not  occupied  with 
office  work  she  embroidered  exquisite  tiny 
flowers  on  baby  caps.  She  had  a  standing  order 
with  some  great  department  store  for  all  of 
these  little  caps  that  she  could  make. 

Mrs.  Richard's  coming  certainly  made  life 
much  easier  for  Dr.  Wallace.  He  found  him 
self  relying  on  her  more  and  more.  She  was 
as  regular  as  clockwork,  neat  and  orderly,  and 
seemed  to  understand  his  needs  without  receiv 
ing  special  instructions.  Jim  Dudley  liked  her. 
Mammy  had  no  fault  to  find  with  her.  Only 
Esther  had  an  unaccountable  distrust  of  this  office 
assistant.  She  could  not  tell  why  it  was,  but 
from  the  beginning  the  girl  had  a  feeling  almost 
of  fear  of  this  calm,  quiet,  lady-like  woman, 
who  had  only  courteous  words  for  everybody 


152         Mammy's  White  Folks 

and  whose  one  desire  seemed  to  be  to  please  the 
household  and  do  her  duty. 

"  She  looks  like  she  is  waiting  for  something," 
Esther  said  to  herself,  —  "  kind  of  like  a  grey 
snake  coiled  up  in  the  grass  ready  to  strike. 
I  know  I'm  a  beast  to  think  so  when  everybody 
else  is  crazy  about  her.    I  know  she  is  wonder 
ful  for  Daddy  and  makes  life  easier  for  him. 
I  know  Jim  thinks  she  is  just  bully,  because  he 
said  so.     I  know  Mammy  has  no  fault  to  find 
with  her  —  I  know  the  Carleys  like  her,  espe 
cially  Mr.   Carley  —  but  —  but  —  I   don't  like 
her   voice  —  I   don't   like   her   eyes  —  I   don't 
like  the  way  she  holds  the  baby  caps  when  she 
sticks  the  needle  in  and  out.    She  never  thinks 
about  the  little  baby  that  is  going  to  wear  the 
cap.    I  believe  she  would  not  at  all  mind  stick 
ing  the  needle  in  the  baby.    There  is  something 
in  her  eye  that  tells  me  so.     All  she  thinks 
about  is  the  money  she  will  make  on  the  cap. 
She  hates  me,  too!    I  know  it  by  the  way  she 
looks  at  me  with  her  eyebrows  raised  and  her 
nose  a  bit  pinched  in.     She  tries  not  to  show 
it,  but  I  can  tell.    I  reckon  she  hates  me  because 
her  own  daughter,  Lucile,  has  to  teach  for  her 
tuition.     I'm  glad  I'm  not  Lucile.     I'd  rather 
have  my  own  dear,  dead  mother,  with  her  warm, 
sweet  heart,  loving  everybody  the  way  Mammy 


The  Too-Perfect  Attendant     153 

said  she  did,  than  a  mother  like  Mrs.  Richards 
with  her  efficient  ways  and  her  cold  heart  that 
would  just  as  soon  stick  needles  in  babies'  heads 
as  in  their  caps.  I  bet  if  Mammy  could  see 
as  well  as  she  used  to,  she  wouldn't  like  her 
either.  I  am  almost  sure  Mammy  doesn't  like 
her  voice.  I  can  tell  it  by  the  way  she  cocks 
her  head  on  one  side  when  Mrs.  Richards  is 
speaking.  I  know  I  am  bad  to  feel  this  way. 
I  know  I  should  try  to  like  her,  but  somehow 
I  don't  want  to  like  her.  I  am  as  bad  not  to 
like  her  as  she  is  not  to  like  me,  and  I  am  just 
like  her  because  I  don't  want  anybody  to  know 
how  much  I  hate  her.  And  now  Daddy  is  going 
to  have  her  take  dinner  with  us  every  day 
because  he  is  so  kind  and  good  and  wants  to 
save  her  the  trouble  and  the  money.  I  can't 
bear  to  think  of  having  her  around  all  the  time. 
She  is  so  creepy  and  so  mousy.  I  know  she  is 
pretty  and  her  clothes  fit  mighty  well.  I  know 
she  is  a  poor  widow  who  has  worked  and  slaved 
to  give  her  daughter  all  sorts  of  advantages.  I 
know  she  is  deserving  of  all  praise,  but  I  just 
don't  like  her,  and  I'd  rather  have  our  nice  old 
house  to  ourselves.  She  breaks  up  our  home. 
That's  sure,  and  nobody  seems  to  know  it  but 
me.  I  don't  see  how  Mammy  and  Jim  can  like 
her  the  way  they  do.  Of  course,  Daddy  doesn't 


154         Mammy's  White  Folks 

care  about  her  one  way  or  the  other.  He  just 
finds  she  saves  him  trouble.  Sometimes,  I  think 
maybe  Mammy  is  just  pretending  to  like  her, 
because  she  is  the  one  who  advised  Daddy  to 
get  a  grown-up  person  for  the  office  and  stop 
trying  girls.  Of  course,  Mammy  likes  to  be 
right,  and  if  she  didn't  like  Mrs.  Richards,  that 
would  prove  she  was  wrong.  If  there  is  any 
thing  I  hate,  it  is  a  person  whom  you  just 
naturally  dislike  but  who  never  gives  you  any 
reason  for  hating  her.  The  more  I  dislike  Mrs. 
Richards,  the  more  perfect  she  is.  If  only  I 
can  be  polite  to  her  always  and  never  let  her 
know  how  I  feel !  " 

Esther  had  many  such  communings  with 
herself.  Sometimes  she  took  herself  to  task 
severely  for  her  dislike  of  the  inoffensive  Mrs. 
Richards;  at  other  times  she  encouraged  the 
feeling  by  finding  excuses  for  her  unreasonable 
hatred.  She  never  entered  the  office  if  she  knew 
Mrs.  Richards  was  there,  although,  before  that 
lady's  advent  into  the  household,  the  girl  had 
preferred  that  room  to  any  one  in  the  house 
and  had  spent  many  hours  curled  up  on  the  old 
leather  couch,  reading  and  dreaming  of  fairy 
lore.  Dr.  Wallace  had  liked  to  have  her  there, 
but  he  had  grown  so  busy  that  he  did  not  seem 
to  notice  her  absence. 


The  Too-Perfect  Attendant     155 

At  dinner,  the  one  meal  that  Mrs.  Richards 
took  with  them,  Esther  was  always  very  quiet. 
She  sometimes  made  a  point  of  coming  late, 
but  this  annoyed  Mammy  so  much  that  she 
could  not  do  it  often.  At  all  other  times  she 
was  full  of  life  and  spirits,  talking  and  laugh 
ing,  joking  with  her  father  and  Jim,  teasing 
Mammy,  bubbling  over  with  fun  and  happiness 
—  as  gay  as  a  bobolink^  The  sedate  young  lady 
who  appeared  at  dinner  was  a  contrast  to  the 
little  hoyden  who  charmed  them  at  breakfast 
and  supper. 

If  Mrs.  Richards  knew  of  the  effect  she  had 
on  her  employer's  daughter,  she  said  nothing 
about  it.  The  girl  was  always  scrupulously 
polite,  but  she  seldom  addressed  a  remark  to 
the  older  woman,  and  if  she  did,  it  was  always 
couched  in  the  most  formal  language. 

"  Whe'fo'  you  don't  cotton  ter  Mis'  Richards, 
honey  chil'?"  Mammy  asked  one  day  when 
Esther  got  in  late  to  dinner  and  begged  Mammy 
to  let  her  have  that  meal  in  the  kitchen. 

'  What  makes  you  ask  that,  Mammy?  Don't 
I  behave  well  to  her? " 

"  Sho,  yo'  'haves  too  well.  You  is  that  prissy 
an'  proudified  whin  you  is  fo'ced  ter  talk  ter 
her  that  you  'minds  me  er  playin'  lady-come- 
ter-see  wif  the  preacher's  wife." 


156         Mammy's  White  Folks 

"  Do  you  like  her,  Mammy? "  Esther  left 
the  kitchen  table,  where  she  had  finished  her 
dinner,  and  perched  herself  on  Mammy's  lap. 
Big  girl  that  she  was,  every  now  and  then  she 
got  in  the  old  woman's  lap.  Those  were 
moments  of  infinite  bliss  to  Mammy.  She  held 
the  girl  close  in  her  arms,  and  went  over  in 
her  mind  the  precious  babyhood  of  her  loved 
one.  "  Cross-your-heart-and-hope-you-may-die, 
Mammy,  do  you  really  and  truly  like  Mrs. 
Richards?" 

"Well,  now  —  " 

"  Cross  your  heart  and  then  cross  my  heart 
—  now!"  ' 

"You  see  —  " 

"  No,  I  don't  see.    Do  you  like  her  looks? " 

'  Well,  honey  baby,  I  ain't  able  ter  see  mo'n 
jes'  a  kinder  blur  wha  folkses'  faces  is  —  both 
my  eyes  is  actin'  up  —  but  that  blur  is  tollable 
putty." 

"  Poor  Mammy!  Never  mind,  soon  that  will 
be  .all  right.  Well,  I'll  tell  you  how  she  looks. 
She  is  pretty,  with  a  good  nose,  and  a  mouth 
that  is  good  enough,  except  she  keeps  it  shut 
too  tight.  Her  hair  is  nice  and  smooth  and 
well  brushed;  and  her  teeth  are  even  and  well 
brushed,  too,  I  guess;  and  her  dress  is  good 
and  also  well  brushed;  and  her  shoes  are  small 


The  Too-Perfect  Attendant     '157 

and  neat.  But,  Mammy,  you  can  hear  better 
than  anybody  I  know  of,  so  tell  me  this  —  and 
cross  your  heart  again,  Mammy  —  do  you  like 
her  voice? " 

'  Well,  I  don't  ter  say  admire  it  much.  It's 
a  business-lak  voice,  an'  I  reckon  she  kin  make 
them  phome  centrals  stan'  aroun'  whin  she  jaws 
'em,  but  I  ain't  ter  say  keerin'  much  'bout  her 
talkin'  voice.  Seems  ter  me  lak  I  done  hearn 
a  voice  lak  it  onct  a  long  time  ergo,  but  I 
cyarn't  spot  it.  She  don't  never  talk  loud  wif 
it,  but  sometimes  it  looks  ter  me  lak  she's  got 
a  bridle  $n  it  a-holding  it  in." 

"Exactly!  And  that  is  just  what  I  don't 
like  about  her.  She  is  too  unnatural.  Mammy, 
I  have  felt  so  bad  about  being  the  only  one  who 
doesn't  like  her,  and  now  I  feel  so  much  better. 
You  are  with  me." 

"  But,  chil',  I  never  said  sich  a  thing." 

"  No,  but  you  implied  as  much." 

"I  never  'plied  nothin'!  Here,  git  off  my 
lap  an'  let  me  wash  up  them  dishes.  You  ain't 
a  gonter  make  me  c'mit  myself." 

*  You  don't  have  to,  you  old  precious !  Don't 
you  know  that  I  know  you?  Do  you  like 
Jim?" 

"  Who,  Doc  Dudley?  Sho  I  likes  him.  He's 
the  salt  er  the  vearth." 


158         Mammy's  White  Folks 

"  See!  When  you  like  anybody,  you  come 
out  with  it  and  don't  hem  and  haw.  I  caught 
you  up,  Mammy  I" 

"But,  chiP,  she  is  sho  a  he'p  ter  yo'  paw  an' 
Doc  Jim  Dudley.  That  there  ought  ter  make 
us  lak  her  some." 

"  I  know  that,  Mammy,  but  the  more  she 
helps  them  the  less  I  like  her.  That's  just  how 
bad  I  am,  Mammy,  and  you  are  just  like  me. 
But,  Mammy,  we  are  going  to  be  as  good  as 
gold  and  not  say  a  word  about  it.  I'll  be  polite, 
but  I  won't  love  her.  I  don't  want  to  love  her, 
and  I'm  glad  she  doesn't  like  me." 

"Whe'fo'  you  say  that? " 

"  Because  she  doesn't.  I  can  tell.  Does 
she  like  you?  " 

"  Lawd,  chil',  I  ain't  nothin'  but  a  oP  nigger 
'ooman,  an'  it  ain't  no  min'  ter  nobody  whether 
she  laks  me  or  not,  but  she  ain't  got  no  cause  ter 
treat  you  ugly." 

'  Why,  Mammy,  she  treats  me  beautifully. 
She  is  as  lovely  to  me  as  I  am  to  her.  That's 
what  I  hate  about  it.  I'd  rather  she  would 
turn  up  her  nose  at  me.  Then  I  could  bite  my 
thumb  at  her  instead  of  pretending  all  the  time. 
Does  she  treat  you  well?" 

"  She  sho  is!  She  is  very  politeful  ter  me, 
but  I  don't  never  have  no  words  wif  her  one 


The  Too-Perfect  Attendant      159 

way  or  tother.  I  kinder  think  she  ain't  much 
of  a  nigger-lover,  but  s'long  as  I  does  my  wuck 
an'  she  does  hern  I  reckon  we'll  git  along. 
Whin  I  gits  these  canteracks  cut  offn  my  eyes, 
I'll  tell  you  what  I  thinks  'bout  her  looks  — 
not  that  looks  makes  so  much  diffunce  whin  I 
laks  folks.  What  does  Mr.  Peter  think  about 
her-?  Doesxhe  lak  her?" 

"  I  don't  know.  Peter  is  so  dumb,  there  is 
never  a  chance  of  getting  anything  out  of  him. 
Of  course  he  doesn't  see  her  often  because  she 
is  gone  when  he  comes  to  call  in  the  evening. 
I  reckon  he  likes  her  well  enough.  Jim  thinks 
she  is  fine,  and,  I  believe,  wishes  I'd  be  more 
like  her.  I'll  see  myself!  " 


Chapter  14 
A  MONOLOGUE  ON  LOVE 

When  a  young  doctor  is  blessed  with  comeli 
ness  and  charm  and  an  exquisitely  deferential 
manner  with  all  women  old  and  young,  no 
matter  how  much  he  may  be  in  love  with  his 
profession,  society  will  claim  him  for  its  own. 
Jim  Dudley  was  besieged  by  society.  There 
was  no  escaping  it.  If  he  got  by  the  daughters, 
the  mammas  nabbed  him.  Fathers,  sons  and 
brothers  joined  forces  with  their  womenkind. 
If  he  had  not  possessed  a  character  in  which 
level-headedness  was  united  with  innate 
modesty,  the  young  man  would  certainly  have 
been  ruined  by  the  adulation  he  received  from 
the  four  hundred  of  that  southern  city  in  which 
he  was  now  a  rising  figure. 

Always  having  been  sought  after  more  or 
less,  Jim  Dudley  looked  upon  his  social  suc 
cesses  with  calm  indifference.  He  accepted 
invitations  when  it  suited  him,  but  declined 
them,  when  he  chose,  with  perfect  nonchalance. 
He  rarely  consented  to  dine  away  from  home, 
frankly  preferring  the  jolly  little  suppers  with 

160 


A  Monologue  on  Love          161 

his  senior  partner  and  Esther.  Mammy  always 
cooked  well,  but  on  those  suppers  she  seemed 
to  outdo  herself. 

"  I  ain't  a  been  caterin'  ter  men-folks  all  my 
life  fer  notliin'.  I  knows  what  they  likes  an' 
whin  they  likes  it.  Men  folks  ain't  a  gonter 
take  ter  eatin'  away  from  home  lessen  they  is 
unsatisfied,"  she  remarked  to  herself  one  evening 
when  she  had  heard  Dr.  Dudley  refuse  an 
invitation  to  dinner  at  the  country  club. 
"  Thank  Gawd,  I  had  bakin  an'  fried  apples 
ternight.  Doc  Dudley  sho  is  partiam  ter  bakin 
an'  fried  apples." 

*  You  air  scairt  Doc  Dudley  will  fall  in  love 
wif  one  er  them  sassiety  gals,"  scoffed  the  voice 
that  fell  into  a  querulous  note. 

"  No  sich  a  thing!  They  air  too  many  er 
them  fer  him  ter  settle  on  one.  His  heart  air 
fixed  on  my  chiT.  How  does  I  know  it?  I 
knows  it  by  the  way  he  pass  her  the  taters  —  I 
knows  it  by  the  way  he  ax  her  fer  mo'  sugar  in 
his  coffee  whin  she  already  done  put  in  two 
lumps." 

'  You  knows  a  lot  fer  a  ign'rant  ol'  nigger!  " 
in  scoffing  tone. 

'Yes,  I  knows  a  lot!  Book  larnin'  ain't 
ev'ything.  I  knows  Doc  Jim  Dudley  air  sick 
an'  tired  er  all  these  here  white  gals  an'  they 


162         Mammy's  White  Folks 

maws  a-phomin  an*  writin  ter  him.  *  Come  Mon 
day  I  '  "  she  mimicked.  "  *  'Gagement?  Too  bad! 
Thin  make  it  Chewsday!  'Nother  'gagement? 
Wednesday'll  do,'  an'  so  on  til  Kingdom  Come. 
'Cose,  it  air  all  good  fer  business  in  a  way,  but 
Doc  Jim  Dudley  ain't  stuck  on  that  a  way  er 
gittin'  custom.  They  is  gals  an*  growed  women, 
too,  in  this  here  town  what  is  so  took  up  wif 
Doc  Jim  Dudley  that  if  he  'nounced  he  wa*  a 
gonter  gib  up  gin'ral  practice  an'  take  ter  curin' 
nothin'  but  the  seben  years'  itch,  they  would 
come  a-scratchin." 

"  Oh,  go  long,  nigger! " 

"  Now,  my  Esther  baby,  she  don't  lower 
herse'f  none  ter  him  nor  nobody  else.  She 
air  lak  one  er  these  here  water  lilies  what  close 
its  petals  up  whin  things  gits  too  hot  fer  it. 
All  the  time,  though,  her  heart  am  pu'  gol', 
pu'  gol'  jes  lak  a  water  lily," 

Three  years  had  passed  since  Jim  Dudley's 
lace  shoes  had  combined  with  his  unblemished 
forehead  and  cleft  chin  to  place  him  as  assist 
ant  to  the  popular  Dr.  Wallace.  The  partner 
ship  had  been  a  pleasant  and  profitable  one. 
The  friendship  between  the  two  men  had  grown 
strong  and  sincere.  With  Esther,  Jim  took 
the  big-brother  attitude  somewhat,  although  at 
times  he  was  acutely  conscious  that  it  was  a 


A  Monologue  on  Love         163 

false  attitude.  He  had  sisters  of  his  own,  and 
knew  very  well  that  his  feeling  for  them  was 
not  quite  the  same  as  the  one  he  had  for  Esther. 
To  be  sure,  they  were  older  than  he,  hut  even 
had  they  been  younger  he  was  certain  he  would 
not  have  had  quite  the  tenderness  for  them  that 
he  had  for  his  little  friend.  Never  would  he 
have  thought  of  them  as  fairy  princesses. 

Esther  was  no  longer  a  child.  The  men  of 
the  household  did  not  realize  it,  but  Mammy 
understood  and  resented  bitterly  the  failing 
eyesight  that  kept  her  from  enjoying  the 
increasing  beauty  that  she  was  sure  must  shine 
from  her  darling's  countenance. 

Beauty  did  shine  therefrom,  beauty  and 
charm  and  sweetness.  She  was  not  a  whit 
spoiled  by  the  fact  that  the  girls  of  her  set  all 
adored  her.  Nor  did  she  lose  any  of  her  unaf 
fected  girlishness  because  of  the  many  callow 
youths  who  came  ringing  Dr.  Wallace's  door 
bell  on  the  evenings  of  the  week  when  school 
did  not  hold  and  girls  of  her  age  were  per 
mitted  visitors.  Dr.  Dudley  did  not  approve 
at  all  of  these  boy  beaux  who  buzzed  around 
his  little  princess. 

'  You  are  entirely  too  young  for  such  fool 
ishness,"  he  declared  one  Friday  night  when  the 
last  caller  had  reluctantly  departed. 


164         Mammy's  White  Folks 

"What  foolishness?"  asked  Esther,  yawning 
prodigiously  as  she  helped  Mammy  bring  in  the 
porch  cushions.  Mammy  always  sat  up  until 
her  baby  was  safely  tucked  in  bed. 

'  Why,  the  idea  of  that  ridiculous  little  boy's 
making   love   to   you!     That's   'what   foolish 


ness.' 


"  Do  you  mean  Willie?  What  an  old  goose 
you  are,  Jim!  Why,  Willie  wasn't  making 
love  to  me  —  he  was  just  talking  love.  Willie 
has  no  idea  what  love  is.  Of  course  he  will 
learn,  but  while  he  is  learning,  he  will  have  to 
talk  a  lot  about  it.  It  does  him  good,  and  it 
doesn't  hurt  me  a  bit.  If  it  annoyed  you  so, 
why  did  you  hang  around?" 

"  Because  I  think  you  are  too  young  not  to 
have  a  —  a  —  chaperon." 

Esther  laughed  joyously,  and  Mammy  gave 
a  little  chuckle  as  she  closed  the  green  parlor 
blinds  and  discreetly  betook  herself  to  the 
kitchen. 

"  I  wouldn't  call  you  a  chaperon,  Jim.  How 
would  dragon  do  —  a  dragon  of  propriety?  Do 
you  go  along  as  chaperon  on  all  those  parties 
you  get  invited  to?  No  wonder  you  are  in 
such  demand." 

Jim  grinned  and  determined  to  accept  no 
more  invitations  for  non-school  evenings. 


A  Monologue  on  Love         165 

"  You  say  Willie  doesn't  know  what  love  is 
—  do  you  know?" 

"  I  think  I  do." 

Esther  had  started  up  the  steps,  but  she 
leaned  over  the  banisters,  her  face  on  a  level 
with  the  young  man's.  They  both  thought  of 
the  first  time  they  had  met  by  the  twisted 
mulberry  tree. 

'  You  see,  Jim,  there  are  all  kinds  of  love. 
There  is  the  kind  of  love  I  have  for  my  father, 
which  is  just  part  of  me.  Of  course  I  love  my 
father  and  of  course  he  loves  me.  Sometimes 
when  I  am  loving  him  the  most  I  tease  him  a 
little  just  to  make  up  and  have  him  hug  me. 
Then  there  is  the  kind  of  love  I  have  for 
Mammy.  That  is  a  kind  of  selfish  love,  I  am 
afraid,  because  Mammy  does  so  much  more  for 
me  than  I  do  for  her.  I  reckon  Mammy  knows 
more  about  real  love  than  any  of  us,  because 
her  love  is  all  expressed  in  doing  things  for 
people.  Do  you  know,  Jim,  I  believe  Mammy 
would  even  commit  a  crime  for  her  white  folks, 
even  if  she  thought  she  would  be  eternally 
damned  for  it.  Willie,  poor  boy,  thinks  that 
sitting  on  the  front  steps  in  the  moonlight  with 
some  girl  is  love,  but  he  will  learn  better." 

Somewhat  ill  at  ease,  Jim  listened  patiently 
to  Esther's  naive  discourse. 


166         Mammy's  White  Folks 

/ 
"And  what  other  kinds  of  love  are  there?" 

he  said  at  last. 

"  There  is  the  kind  I  have  for  my  mother, 
which  somehow  has  always  been  the  realest 
thing  of  all,  although  I  never  saw  her  —  not 
even  a  picture  of  her.  But  I  know  a  lot  about 
her.  Mammy  told  me  all  she  could  remember, 
and  I  know  how  she  looked  because  one  time  I 
made  a  portrait  of  her  that  Mammy  and  Daddy 
both  recognized.  My  love  for  my  mother  is  a 
kind  of  religion  to  me,"  she  said  softly. 

"  Then  there  is  Peter,  dear  old  Peter.  To 
say  you  love  Peter  is  kind  of  like  saying  you 
love  bread  and  butter.  He  is  substantial,  just 
like  bread  and  butter.  You  can't  do  without 
him,  and  would  find  out  how  much  you  loved 
him  only  if  he  were  taken  away  from  you  — 
just  as  you'd  miss  bread  and  butter  if  you 
had  to  have  caramel  cake  for  breakfast.  Then 
there  is  Marian  and  all  the  girls.  Of  course, 
some  of  them  are  caramel-cakish  and  you 
wouldn't  want  a  steady  diet  of  them.  Then 
there  is  Mike,  dear  Mike!  Who  could  help 
loving  him? 

'  Then  there  is  another  big  love  that  takes  in 
everybody  and  everything  —  the  lame  dogs  on 
the  street  and  the  sick  cat  in  the  alley,  the 
dirty-faced  little  children  and  the  poor  sad 


rA  Monologue  on  Love         167 

women,  and  the  poor  bad  men,  and  the  flowers, 
even  the  weeds,  and  the  bugs  and  beasts,  the 
sunshine  and  the  rain,  everything  and  every 
body —  at  least,  most  everybody.  Of  course, 
there  are  some  people  you  just  can't  love." 

"And  where  do  I  come  in?"  He  covered 
her  little  hand  with  his  as  it  rested  on  the  railing. 
"  It  seems  to  me  you  have  mentioned  every 
body  of  your  acquaintance  but  me.  Am  I 
merely  in  the  general  scheme  of  things?  Am 
jl  in  the  miscellaneous  list  along  with  the  alley 
cats?" 

"  Oh,  no,  Jim!  You  are  a  fabulous  monster, 
a  dragon,  and  have  a  list  all  to  yourself." 

She  slipped  her  hand  from  under  his  and 
,ran  lightly  up  the  stairs.  He  stood  for  a 
moment  clinging  to  the  banister  as  though  her 
hand  were  still  prisoned  in  his.  He  sighed 
audibly  as  he  mounted  the  steps  to  his  room. 

Mammy  emerged  from  the  dining-room, 
where  her  sharp  ears  had  caught  most  of  the 
conversation  between  Jim  and  her  young  charge. 
She  locked  the  front  door,  turned  out  the  light, 
and  then  felt  her  way  along  the  hall  to  the 
back  stairs.  As  she  ascended  to  her  room  she 
chuckled  delightedly. 

"  Doc  Jim  Dudley,  you  air  got  ter  be  nimble 
come  trimble  ter  ketch  up  wif  my  Esther  baby." 


Chapter  15 
FINDING  A  NAMESAKE 

Upper  Garden  Street  was  quite  different 
from  lower  Garden  Street  —  different  both 
topographically  and  socially.  In  the  upper 
stretches  of  the  street,  many  a  stately  mansion 
reared  its  head.  There  lived  what  Mammy 
proudly  called  "  the  nablehood."  The  old  Grant 
house  had  at  one  time  been  the  handsomest 
place  on  the  block,  and  in  point  of  architecture 
and  front  yard,  it  still  was  nothing  to  be 
ashamed  of.  But  newer  and  finer  homes  had 
been  built  on  all  sides,  which  flaunted  their 
newness  and  grandeur  in  the  faces  of  the 
passers-by.  The  old  house  bore  the  look  of  a 
sweet  Quaker  lady  in  an  assemblage  of  over 
dressed  dames. 

Upper  Garden  Street  gave  a  sudden  dip  and 
a  quirk  to  the  right,  narrowed  itself,  and  behold, 
Lower  Garden  Street  1  The  houses  took  a 
tumble  quite  as  precipitous  as  the  street.  No 
more  mansions  were  visible,  hardly  a  two-story 
house  —  nothing  but  cottages,  at  first  neat  and 
prosperous,  but  gradually  getting  shabbier  and 

168 


Finding  a  Namesake  169 

more  unkempt  as  the  street  approached  the 
river. 

Within  a  hundred  feet  of  the  river  this 
changeable  street  did  another  wonderful  thing. 
Again  it  took  a  turn  to  the  right,  quite  a  sharp 
turn,  and  without  a  note  of  warning  it  sud 
denly  transformed  itself  into  a  pleasant  country 
road  that  ran  along  with  the  river,  evidently 
having  forgotten  all  about  its  former  grandeur 
as  well  as  its  slovenly  degradation. 

This  was  Esther's  favorite  walk  and  sketch 
ing  field.  The  river  always  had  had  a  fascina 
tion  for  her.  She  loved  the  lower  street,  too, 
with  its  swarming  population  of  dirty  children, 
some  wistful,  some  saucy.  She  wondered  why 
they  stayed  in  the  crowded,  narrow  street  when 
God's  green  country  was  just  beyond  and  free 
for  the  taking.  Why  would  they  content  them 
selves  with  playing  in  the  gutters,  sailing  their 
boats  in  soapy,  greasy  water  —  one  of  the  by 
products  of  wash  day,  on  the  street  —  when 
only  a  little  way  down  the  pleasant,  shady  road 
was  a  sweet,  little  brook  that  flowed  into  the 
river.  In  spite  of  the  charms  of  the  shady  road 
beyond  the  second  turn,  she,  too,  would  often 
linger  in  the  lower  street  and  watch  the  children 
at  play,  making  hasty  sketches  of  them. 

"  The  country  is  lovely,"  she  said  to  herself, 


Mammy's  White  Polks 

*  but  after  all,  nothing  is  so  wonderful  as  just 
people." 

It  was  a  rare  and  radiant  day  in  June.  The 
gutters  in  the  lower  street  were  full  to  over 
flowing  with  delectable,  soapy  water.  The  suds 
sparkled  in  the  sunshine  as  they  foamed  from 
a  waste  pipe.  Surely,  all  the  women  in  the 
street  were  washing  on  that  day  to  make  such 
beautiful  soapsuds.  School  was  out  for  the 
year,  and  the  children  were  noisily  happy  as 
they  waded  in  the  gutters. 

Esther,  too,  was  glad  that  school  was  out. 
Commencement  day  had  come  and  gone. 
Dressed  in  white,  she  had  stood  on  the  stage 
with  her  class,  and  had  stepped  from  the  ranks 
to  receive  her  diploma.  She  was  much  more 
conscious  of  having  graduated  in  white  organdy 
than  mathematics,  but  nevertheless  she  prized 
the  sheepskin  that  bore  witness  to  the  fact  that 
ahe  had  gone  to  school  for  twelve  long  years. 
Now  she  meant  to  give  her  life  up  to  sketching. 
The  time  might  come  when  she  would  be  allowed 
to  goxto  New  York  and  study  art,  but  in  the 
meantime,  there  was  the  lower  street  and  the 
river  to  be  studied  and  sketched,  and  Miss 
Hunter's  studio,  where  she  passed  many  happy 
hours. 

Jim  Dudley  had  given  her  a  beautiful  gradu- 


Finding  a  Namesake  171 

ating  present  —  a  complete  little  sketching  kit. 
She  had  taken  it  out  for  the  first  time,  intending 
to  christen  it  with  a  thumb-nail  sketch  for  Jim. 
It  was  great  fun  watching  the  kiddies  sail  their 
boats  in  the  gutters,  but  the  river  was  calling 
her  and  she  must  run  along  and  get  busy  with 
her  sketch.  Soon  she  left  the  road  and  entered 
a  little  overgrown  path  leading  directly  to  the 
river.  She  and  Jim  had  followed  that  path  one 
day  and  had  enjoyed  a  little  picnic  down  by  the 
bank.  She  had  determined  then  to  make  a 
picture  of  the  spot  —  a  bit  of  curved  sandy 
beach  in  the  foreground,  and,  on  beyond,  an 
arched  stone  bridge.  Softly  she  walked  along 
the  tangled  path,  stopping  now  and  again  to 
listen  to  the  birds  who  seemed  filled  with  the  joy 
of  living.  June  is  the  month  for  singing,  and 
they  were  getting  in  all  the  music  possible  before 
the  heat  of  July.  She  caught  the  note  of  a 
thrush;  then  a  wren;  then  a  whistle  she  could 
not  identify  until  a  streak  of  scarlet  cut  across 
her  vision,  and  she  knew  the  strange  note  was 
that  of  a  Kentucky  Cardinal.  Suddenly  Mr. 
Mockingbird  took  up  the  combined  refrain  of 
all  the  birds  and  scornfully  flung  it  back  at 
them.  Abashed  for  a  moment,  the  more  modest 
singers  were  silent,  but  one  by  one  they  came 
back  in  the  chorus. 


172         Mammy's  White  Folks 

Esther  held  her  breath  in  ecstasy.  A  tiny 
Molly  Cotton  Tail  came  loping  up  the  path, 
and  a  striped  chipmunk  scuttled  behind  a  huge 
sycamore  tree. 

"It's  wonderfully  good  to  be  alive!"  she 
mused.  "But  what  is  that  bird?  Could  it  be 
a  dove?  They  are  melancholy  enough." 

She  stopped  and  listened  intently.  There 
was  a  moan  that  might  have  been  a  dove's  sad 
song,  but  an  unmistakable  sob  followed. 

"  Somebody  is  miserable!  And  on  such  a 
day,  tool " 

The  sobbing  continued,  and  then  she  heard 
a  woman's  voice: 

"My  baby!  My  baby!  How  can  I?  But 
I  must.  It  is  the  only  way.  I  can't  leave  you 
and  I  can't  stay  here  any  longer.  God  forgive 
me!" 

Esther  pushed  her  way  through  the  tangled 
vines  and  alder-bushes  that  bordered  the  little 
river.  Crouched  on  the  bit  of  curved  sandy 
beach  which  she  had  planned  to  use  as  a  fore 
ground  in  her  composition  was  a  young  girl  no 
older  than  Esther  herself.  Clasped  in  her  arms 
was  a  tiny  baby.  Every  line  of  the  girl's 
slender  figure  denoted  complete  abandonment 
to  misery  and  woe. 

"  Oh,    what   is   the   matter? "    cried    Esther. 


Finding  a  Namesake  173 

"  Please  let  me  help  you."  She  fell  on  her 
knees  by  the  side  of  the  girl.  '  What  a  darling 
baby!  Let  me  hold  it,  please!  " 

At  Esther's  first  words  the  girl  started  to 
clamber  to  her  feet,  but  mention  and  praise  of 
her  baby  arrested  her  action.  She  stared  at 
Esther  for  a  moment  and  then  covered  her  face 
with  one  hand. 

"Don't  speak  to  me!  Go  away!  I'm  not 
doing  any  harm." 

"Of  course  you  are  not!  Neither  am  I;.  I 
just  want  to  see  your  little  baby.  Is  it  yours?  " 

"Yes!" 

"How  lovely!  Aren't  you  proud  of  such  a 
wonderful  little  thing  being  yours? " 

The  girl  uncovered  her  face  and  looked  curi 
ously  at  the  person  who  had  broken  in  so  unex 
pectedly  on  what  she  had  thought  to  be  her 
last  moments  on  earth.  Then  she  looked  down 
on  the  tiny  form  held  so  close  in  her  arms,  and 
a  smile  of  infinite  sweetness  crossed  her  face. 
She  was  a  pretty  girl  with  great  grey  eyes  and 
blue-black  hair.  In  spite  of  a  faded,  brown 
calico  dress  several  sizes  too  large  for  her, 
Esther's  artistic  eye  could  detect  the  subtle 
lines  of  beauty  in  her  slender  form. 

"  Proud  of  it !  Everybody  says  I  ought  to 
be  ashamed  of  it. »  That's  why  —  " 


174         Mammy's  White  Folks 

"  Ashamed  of  it!  But  you  love  it,  don't  you? 
Of  course  you  do,"  noting  the  way  the  poor 
little  mother  curved  her  arm  around  the  tiny 
creature.  '  You  might  be  ashamed  if  you  have 
been  —  been  —  immodest  —  but  now  that  the 
baby  is  here,  you  have  to  be  proud.  Please  let 
me  hold  it  a  moment.  I'll  give  it  right  back." 
She  held  out  her  arms  beseechingly. 

"  She  ain't  fit  to  be  held  by  the  likes  of  you. 
She's  naked.  I  had  nothing  but  this  old  rag 
to  wrap  her  in.  I  pawned  everything  else." 

Esther  tried  to  keep  the  shocked  look  out  of 
her  face.  She  was  fully  aware  of  the  fact  that 
her  timely  entrance  had  kept  the  poor  wretched 
girl  from  plunging  into  the  river  and  taking 
her  baby  with  her.  One  tactless  act  or  word 
and  she  might  still  carry  out  her  design.  She 
was  evidently  desperate.  Esther  shuddered  at 
the  thought  of  the  terrible  destitution  that  the 
young  mother  must  have  faced. 

"  Well,  there  is  nothing  in  the  world  sweeter 
than  a  little  naked  baby.  I  just  love  them.  It 
is  warm  to-day,  and  babies  don't  need  many 
clothes  when  the  sun  is  shining  so.  How  old 
is  she?" 

"Just  a  month." 

At  last  Esther  had  the  little  creature  in  her 
arms,  wrapped  in  its  rag. 


Finding  a  Namesake          175 

"  What  a  precious !  I  feel  like  squeeamg  her 
real  hard.  What  is  her  name? " 

"  She  hasn't  any  name.    I  just  call  her  baby." 

"  Oh,  but  she  must  have  a  name,  mustn't 
she?" 

"  I  didn't  see  the  use."  The  big  grey  eyes 
stared  in  the  river. 

"  Oh,  please  name  her  for  me.  I  have  always 
just  longed  to  have  someone  named  after  me. 
My  name  is  Esther  —  Esther  Wallace.  Would 
you  mind  ? " 

"  No  —  I  —  "  the  girl  choked.  "  You  don't 
understand  —  I'm  —  I'm  not  fit,  neither  is  the 
baby." 

"Not  fit?  This  dear  little  angel  not  fitl 
Don't  say  such  things  about  my  namesake  and 
godchild  —  that  is,  if  you  will  let  me  be  her 
godmother.  Please  tell  me  your  name." 

"Cora!" 

"  Now,  Cora,  let's  go  home,  and  Mammy  and 
I  will  find  some  clothes  for  little  Esther.  When 
I  was  a  little  girl  I  had  a  big  doll  baby  I  used 
to  call  the  '  Largest  Doll,*  and  she  had  a  whole 
trunkful  of  clothes.  She  ended  her  days  with 
a  broken  head,  but  I  am  sure  her  clothes  are 
still  there.  They  will  just  fit  little  Esther.  Let 
me  carry  the  baby  and  you  carry  my  sketching 
things.  They  are  not  heavy." 


176         Mammy's  White  Folks 

Meekly  Cora  picked  up  the  sketching  kit,  and 
meekly  she  followed  Esther  up  the  path  with 
out  once  looking  back  at  the  river. 

It  was  characteristic  of  Esther  that  she  never 
once  thought  that  anybody  would  act  differ 
ently  from  the  way  she  was  doing  or  would 
criticise  her  for  her  behavior.  Of  course,  it  was 
unusual  for  a  young  lady  living  on  Upper 
Garden  Street  to  walk  through  the  streets 
carrying  a  tiny  baby  wrapped  up  in  a  rag,  with 
the  mother  of  the  infant  trailing  along  deject 
edly  beside  her,  but  then  it  was  an  unusual 
thing  for  a  young  lady  to  go  out  to  make  a 
sketch  on  a  wonderful  June  morning  and  find 
her  foreground  occupied  by  a  poor  unfor 
tunate  girl  about  to  jump  in  the  river  with 
her  baby  in  her  arms. 

"  Here's  where  I  live,"  she  said  gently. 
"  We'll  go  find  Mammy,  Cora." 

The  front  door  was  always  left  unlatched 
during  the  day  —  a  fact  which  saved  Mammy 
many  a  step  as  Esther  and  her  friends  were 
constantly  running  in  and  out.  Esther  opened 
the  door,  and  taking  the  poor  girl  by  the  hand, 
she  lead  her  straight  back  to  the  kitchen  where 
Mammy  sat  dozing  over  the  shelling  of  a  lapful 
of  pe&a, 

"  Mammy,  I  need  your  help !  " 


Finding  a  Namesake  177 

ik  What  is  it,  honey  chil'?  "  Mammy  awakened 
with  a  start. 

"  Mammy,  I  have  a  friend  with  me.  Cora  is 
her  name,  and  her  little  baby  hasn't  any  clothes. 
I  want  you  to  find  the  clothes  that  used  to  be 
worn  by  the  Largest  Doll  before  she  got  a 
broken  head.  I  am  sure  they  would  just  fit 
the  little  baby,  whose  name  is  Esther  Wallace. 
Look,  Mammy,  isn't  she  precious?  We  met 
down  by  the  river." 

Mammy's  keen  intelligence  grasped  the  situa 
tion  quicker  than  her  dim  eyesight  took  in  the 
fact  that  Esther's  arms  held  a  baby  wrapped  in 
a  faded  piece  of  gingham. 

'What  you  say?    Wha's  any  baby?" 

Esther  put  the  infant  in  the  old  woman's  lap, 
right  on  top  of  the  unshelled  peas. 

"  Gawd  in  Heaben ! "  gasped  Mammy. 
"  What  you  done  did,  Miss  Esther?  Whe'fo' 
you  done  —  " 

"  Now,  Mammy,  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it 
after  we  get  the  poor  little  baby  dressed.  Here, 
sit  down  here,  Cora.  I'll  hold  the  baby, 
Mammy,  while  you  go  look  for  the  doll-clothes. 
You  know  where  you  put  them,  and  they  are 
all  clean,  too,  because  I  remember  how  you 
did  them  up  before  you  put  them  away.  Now, 
hurry,  Mammy!  You  are  the  best  old  Mammy 


178         Mammy's  White  Folks 

in  the  world,  and  I  love  you  more  than  any 
body,  but  please  hurry !  " 

"Gawd  in  Heaben!"  was  all  the  darkey 
could  say  as  she  untied  her  apron,  carefully 
holding  the  peas  in  it.  "Gawd  in  Heaben!" 
She  peered  curiously  at  Cora  as  she  left  the 
kitchen  on  her  way  to  the  attic. 

"  Po'  thing!  Po'  thing!"  she  muttered  as 
she  pulled  a  doll's  trunk  from  under  the  eaves 
where  it  had  been  shoved  years  before. 

"  Po'  thing  nothin' !  Low  flung  pusson,  mo' 
likely!"  came  Mammy's  second  voice. 

"  I  wouldn't  be  so  mean  an'  despicious  as 
you  air  fer  a  pretty." 

"  Well,  you  know  Miss  Esther  ain't  got  no 
call  ter  be  a  trapsin  th'ough  the  streets  with  no 
shanty  boat  critter  lak  that  there  gal  down 
stairs.  Met  by  the  riber!  Huh!  I  reckon 
they  did  meet  by  the  riber.  I  reckon  she  would 
a  dove  in  if  Miss  Esther  hadn't  a  happen  along 
in  the  nick  er  time.  Good  thing,  too! " 

"  Nigger,  you  make  me  trimble  fer  yo'  soul. 
You  let  Esther  baby  a  kotch  you  voicin'  sich 
utterances  an'  she  won't  be  a-sayin  no  mo'  that 
you  air  the  bes'  ol'  Mammy  in  the  worl'  an' 
she  lubs  you  better'n  anybody.  Po'  critter! 
Po'  critter!  I  cyarn't  he'p  a  thinkin'  'bout  po' 
Miss  Elizabeth  an'  her  long  goldin  hair.  I 


Finding  a  Namesake  179 

reckon  I'll  take  all  these  here  doll  rags  down 
stairs,  trunk  an'  all." 

From  her  seat,  Cora  gazed  dumbly  at  Esther 
as  she  rocked  the  baby  and  crooned  to  it.  The 
poor  girl  was  almost  glad  she  was  still  living. 
If  only  she  had  not  had  that  strange  gone  feel 
ing!  She  had  been  hungry  often  enough  to 
know  the  symptoms,  but  this  hunger  was  of  a 
peculiar  type  —  not  just  a  gnawing  but  an 
infinite  weariness  as  well.  She  looked  at  some 
green  peas  that  had  dropped  from  Mammy's 
apron  to  the  floor  and  wondered  if  she  mightn't 
pick  one  up  and  eat  it.  She  leaned  forward 
and  then  quietly  crumpled  up  on  the  floor. 

"Cora,  Cora!  What  is  the  matter?"  cried 
Esther.  "Oh,  she  has  fainted!" 

She  ran  swiftly  to  the  office,  clutching  the 
baby  to  her  bosom. 

"Mrs.  Richards,  is  Daddy  here?  No?  Well, 
where  is  Jim." 

Mrs.  Richards  was  embroidering  a  baby  cap. 
She  was  just  completing  a  tiny  forget-me-not, 
and  Esther  felt  like  screaming  as  the  older 
woman  carefully  and  deftly  took  the  final  stitch 
and  bit  off  her  thread  before  answering. 

"  Dr.  Dudley  has  just  come  in.  He  went  out 
to  the  garage  for  a  moment,"  she  said  in  the 
dead  calm  voice  with  the  rasping  edge  that 


180         Mammy's  White  Folks 

Esther  hated.  "  Can  I  be  of  any  assistance? " 
She  looked  curiously  at  the  bundle  clasped  in 
Esther's  arms.  "  Is  that  a  baby,  Miss  Wal 
lace?  "  The  white  dents  were  around  her  nose. 
Esther  also  hated  the  white  dents. 

'  Yes,  but  I  must  have  Jim !  Cora  has 
fainted  and  Mammy  is  in  the  attic.  Jim! 
Jim ! "  she  called  through  the  window  that 
faced  on  the  garage.  "Quick,  Jim!  I  need 
you." 

Dr.  Dudley  came  running  at  Esther's  call. 

"  What  is  it,  my  dear?  " 

"  Oh,  Jim,  a  friend  of  mine  in  the  kitchen 
has  fainted  and  this  is  her  baby,  and  its  name 
is  Esther  Wallace.  She  was  on  the  way  to 
jumping  in  the  river  when  I  met  her.  The 
baby  is  so  cute,  and,  oh,  Jim,  I  am  so  sorry 
for  her! "  All  of  this  poured  out  in  an  almost 
unintelligible  flood  as  she  ran  back  to  the 
kitchen,  the  young  doctor  at  her  heels. 

Mrs.  Richards  carefully  stuck  her  needle  in 
her  needle-book,  and  then  got  up  and  followed 
them. 

"  Pick  her  up  and  take  her  up  into  my  room, 
Jim.  She  is  as  light  as  a  feather,  I  am  sure." 

"  Yes,  dear  Esther,  I  know  she  is,  but  I 
think  it  would  be  better  to  put  her  on  the  couch 
in  the  office  for  the  present." 


Finding  a  Namesake          181 

Jim  Dudley  gently  lifted  the  poor  girl,  who 
lay  huddled  in  a  little  limp  heap  on  the  kitchen 
floor. 

The  proper  treatment  rendered  by  the  young 
doctor  soon  opened  the  grey  eyes. 

"  I  think  it  is  hunger,  Esther,"  and  Esther 
flew  for  soup  which  she  was  sure  Mammy  had 
in  the  big  black  pot  on  the  back  of  the  stove. 
The  baby  was  tenderly  laid  in  the  big  leather 
chair  in  the  office.  Not  for  worlds  would  Esther 
have  asked  Mrs.  Richards  to  hold  it  while  she 
went  for  food,  nor  would  she  ask  that  lady  to 
go  get  the  food.  There  was  something  about 
her  manner  that  made  Esther  feel  that  she 
highly  disapproved  of  the  whole  affair,  and 
when  she  came  back,  bearing  a  cup  of  soup, 
and  saw  Mrs.  Richards  looking  down  at  the 
baby  as  though  it  were  a  species  of  reptile,  she 
was  sure  she  hated  the  poor  little  creature. 

The  food  had  a  wonderful  effect  on  Cora.  A 
faint  color  came  into  her  wan  cheeks,  and  her  eyes 
brightened. 

"  Come  on  back  ter  the  kitchen  an'  set  up 
to  the  table  an'  I'll  set  out  a  sho'  'nough  meal," 
insisted  Mammy,  who  had  come  down  from  the 
attic  bearing  the  tiny  trunk. 

Mammy  picked  up  the  baby  and  bore  it  off 
to  the  kitchen,  Cora  following.  Mrs.  Richards 


182         Mammy's  White  Folks 

went  into  the  consulting  room,  leaving  Esther 
and  Dr.  Dudley  alone. 

"  Jim,  you  were  lovely  to  poor  Cora.  I  can't 
thank  you  enough  for  being  so  kind  to  her." 

"  How  could  I  have  been  anything  else? 
Poor  little  soul!  Tell  me  all  about  how  you 
happened  to  find  her." 

So  Esther  told  the  whole  story. 

"  And,  Jim,  to  think  of  her  being  ashamed 
of  such  a  precious  baby!  But  what  are  we  to 
do  now?  She  can't  be  turned  adrift  —  besides, 
the  baby  is  my  namesake  and  godchild  now." 

Jim  laughed. 

*  You  didn't  let  any  grass  grow  under  your 
feet,  did  you,  Esther?  Of  course  she  mustn't 
be  turned  adrift.  We  must  find  a  home  for  her, 
and  we  must  look  after  mother  and  child.  Let 
me  speak  to  Mike  a  minute.  I  fancy  he  can 
think  of  some  place." 

Mike  could.  In  fact,  his  own  mother,  he  was 
sure,  would  take  Cora  in  —  for  the  time  being, 
at  least.  And  now  the  baby  must  be  fed  —  an 
operation  which  pleased  Esther  immensely. 

"  You  must  have  lots  of  soup,  Cora  —  not 
only  for  yourself,  but  so  little  Esther  can  grow 
strong  and  fat." 

Then  the  doll-clothes  must  be  tried  on  the 
unresisting  infant.  They  fitted  to  a  nicety. 


Finding  a  Namesake  183 

Rarely  did  a  little  waif  fall  heir  to  such  an 
outfit.  The  Largest  Doll  had  been  a  great 
favorite  in  her  dav,  and  her  wardrobe  had  been 

V      ~ 

an  extensive  one. 

"I'm  so  glad  my  poor  doll  was  a  baby. 
Wouldn't  it  have  been  terrible  if  she  had  been 
a  grown  lady,  and  poor  little  Esther  would 
have  had  to  wear  a  pink-silk  party-gown  and  a 
fur-trimmed  ulster? " 

Cora  laughed  merrily  at  this,  and  then 
stopped  in  astonishment  at  her  own  gaiety  and 
burst  into  tears. 

Mike,  coming  in  to  say  that  Dr.  Dudley's  car 
was  at  Esther's  disposal,  stood  abashed.  His 
kind  Irish  face  was  filled  with  sympathy. 

"  I  can  take  her  to  my  mother  whenever  you 
think  best,"  he  said  to  Esther. 

"  How  do  you  know  your  mother  will  want 
her? "  asked  Esther,  drawing  Mike  into  the 
next  room. 

"  Because  I  am  after  knowing  my  mother," 
the  boy  answered  simply.  "  She  will  keep  her 
for  a  time,  anyhow,  and  then  the  poor  thing 
can  look  around  a  bit." 

And  so  Cora,  who  had  started  the  day  with 
the  determination  of  sharing  a  watery  grave 
with  her  baby,  found  herself,  instead,  with  all 
that  was  left  of  Esther's  June  allowance  in 


184         Mammy's  White  Folks 

her  pocket,  besides  a  generous  yellow-backed 
bill  from  Dr.  Dudley.  Her  old  brown-calico, 
dress  was  discarded  for  a  neat  blue  voile,  and 
in  a  bundle  were  other  gifts  from  the  girl.  The 
doll  baby  trunk  was  at  her  feet,  filled  with 
dainty  clothes  for  her  baby.  Esther  -was  by 
her  side. 

It  had  been  decided  that  Cora  was  to  rent 
a  room  at  the  home  of  Mike's  mother.  When 
Esther  returned,  after  having  established  Cora 
in  her  new  home,  she  found  her  father  in  the 
kitchen  with  Mammy. 

"  You  and  Mammy  are  not  angry  with  me, 
are  you,  Daddy? " 

"  No,  indeed,  my  child,  but  I  wonder  that 
you  knew  what  to  do."  Dr.  Wallace  drew 
her  to  him. 

'  Why,  Daddy,  I  did  what  I  was  sure  my 
mother  would  have  done.  She  would  have 
sympathized  with  that  poor  girl,  I  am  certain. 
I  almost  felt  that  she  stood  by  my  side  and 
told  me  what  to  do.  You  see,  Cora  was  in 
such  a  state  that  if  I  had  said  the  wrong  thing 
she  would  have  run  right  into  the  water.  Some 
thing  told  me  to  talk, about  the  baby  —  and,  you 
see,  it  turned  out  all  right." 

"Gawd  in  Heaben!"  ejaculated  Mammy, 
and  Dr.  Wallace  held  Esther  close  to  his  heart. 


Chapter  17 
A  MOMENTOUS  DECISION 

It  was  decided!  It  took  much  discussion, 
many  sleepless  nights  for  several  persons,  argu 
ments  pro  and  con,  even  some  tears,  but  the 
conclusion  was  finally  reached  that  Esther  must 
go  off  to  a  New  York  boarding  school. 

Marian  Carley  put  it  into  her  head.  Marian 
was  going,  and  naturally  wanted  her  chum  to 
go  too.  Esther  wanted  to  go,  and  still  she 
didn't  want  to  go.  She  loved  her  home 
intensely;  she  loved  her  father;  she  loved 
Mammy;  she  loved  good  Jim  Dudley,  as 
though  he  had  been  the  big  brother  she  had 
always  longed  for.  It  would  be  hard  to  leave 
all  of  these  loved  ones,  but  on  the  other  hand 
it  would  be  such  sport  to  go  to  boarding-school 
—  to  get  to  know  rafts  of  new  girls  and  see 
all  kinds  of  good  plays  and  pictures. 

Miss  Hunter,  the  art  teacher  who  had  taken 
such  interest  in  Esther,  was  decidedly  in  favor 
of  her  going,  if  it  could  be  arranged  that  much 
of  her  time  might  be  spent  at  some  good  art 
school.  Esther  was  eighteen.  She  had  reached 

185 


186         Mammy's  White  Folks 

a  moody  age.  One  minute  she  was  sad  and 
depressed;  the  next  her  sunny  disposition  would 
again  assert  itself.  Her  dislike  for  Mrs. 
Richards  had  not  abated  an  iota,  but  nobody 
but  Mammy  suspected  it.  That  perfect  lady 
had  made  herself  indispensable  to  the  two 
doctors.  She  was  always  on  time,  never  made 
mistakes,  was  always  courteous  to  patients,  was 
never  tired,  never  complaining.  There  she  sat 
day  after  day,  month  after  month,  answering 
the  telephone,  keeping  accounts,  working  on 
her  never-ending  orders  for  baby  caps. 

Gradually  Dr.  Wallace  had  ceased  to  be 
embarrassed  in  her  presence.  A  certain  nun- 
like  quality  which  the  woman  possessed  had  put 
him  at  his  ease.  The  doctor's  friends  had 
always  declared  that  a  person  either  must  be 
a  man  or  be  ill  to  find  any  favor  with  Andrew 
Wallace.  Mrs.  Richards  was  neither,  but  still 
she  was  certainly  creeping  into  his  friendship. 
He  even  consulted  her  about  Esther  at  times, 
and  her  opinion  as  to  the  advisability  of  letting 
the  girl  go  to  boarding-school  was  what  finally 
made  him  decide  to  give  in  to  Esther's  entreaties. 

*'  She  is  anxious  to  go,  and  certainly  it  can 
do  her  no  harm,"  she  said  cautiously.  "  She  is 
not  much  of  a  student,  you  tell  me.  Her  desire 
is  to  paint,  and  New  York  will  offer  much 


A  Momentous  Decision         187 

greater  advantages  than  this  southern  city.  And 
then  —  but  perhaps  I  had  better  not  say  what 
was  in  my  mind." 

"Oh,  say  it  —  do,  please!  I  want  your 
advice ! "  was  his  eager  plea. 

"Of  course,  it  is  not  my  place  to  criticise 
Miss  Wallace,  and  I  do  not  mean  to.  She  is  a 
charming  girl  in  every  way.  Perhaps  she  is  a 
little  bit  too  friendly  with  all  kinds  and  condi 
tions  of  people.  Of  course,  I  believe  in  being 
democratic,  but  having  been  placed  as  I  have 
since  the  death  of  my  husband,"  here  she 
dropped  her  eyes  and  Dr.  Wallace  felt  very 
sorry  for  her,  "  I  have  found  it  necessary  to 
draw  the  line  very  carefully  for  myself  and  my 
daughter.  It  is  easier  to  sink  than  to  rise,  and 
if  one  chooses  associates  beneath  one,  it  is  diffi 
cult  to  keep  one's  standing." 

"  Surely,  but  how  does  that  apply  to  Esther?  " 

"  It  does  not  exactly,  but  I  have  noticed  she 
has  a  tendency  to  be  quite  familiar  with  —  with 
—  menials.  Of  course  I  am  not  speaking  of 
your  colored  cook.  That  is  quite  different, 
although  no  doubt  it  would  be  well  for  her  to 
have  some  other  standards  of  comparison.  I 
am  really  thinking  of  that  Cora,  who  is  hardly 
a  proper  companion,  and  of  Mike,  your  chauf 
feur.  Mike  is  no  doubt  a  nice  Irish  boy,  but 


188         Mammy's  White  Folks 

it  is  hardly  suitable  for  your  daughter  to  spend 
half  the  afternoon  out  in  the  garage  talking  to 
him." 

"Well  — but  — " 

"  You  see,  I  should  not  have  spoken." 

"Oh,  no!  That  is  all  right!  You  should 
have  spoken,  and  I  am  much  obliged  to  you.  I 
think  you  don't  quite  understand  my  daughter." 

"  Oh,  indeed  I  do!  I  am  not  criticising  her 
at  all.  I  think  it  is  quite  natural  for  her  to  do 
just  as  she  does,  but  I  also  think  it  would  be 
well  for  her  to  spend  a  year  of  her  life  where 
her  manners  would  be  shaped  by  cultured, 
accomplished  ladies  rather  than  by  a  colored 
servant,  no  matter  how  devoted  that  servant 
may  be." 

"Perhaps  you  are  right.  Poor  Mammy! 
Esther's  going  will  be  hard  on  the  old  woman. 
She  has  been  the  only  mother  the  child  has 
known." 

"  Your  wife  died  when  the  babv  was  born? " 

»• 

"  Y-e-s  —  that  is,  soon  after."  The  doctor 
shut  up  like  a  clam.  He  wished  he  could  tell 
this  woman  about  Esther.  He  did  not  relish 
the  idea  of  acting  a  part  before  her,  but  the 
habit  of  the  last  seventeen  years  was  strong 
on  him  and  he  resisted  the  temptation  of  making 
a  clean  breast  of  the  matter. 


A  Momentous  Decision         189 

"It  is  hard  on  a  girl  to  have  to  bring  herself 
up  as  Miss  Wallace  has  done,"  she  went  on 
gently. 

"  But  Mammy  has  brought  her  up." 

"  Of  course,  she  has  done  her  duty  by  her  to 
the  best  of  her  ability,  but  one  could  hardly 
expect  an  ignorant  old  colored  woman  to  know 
all  the  usages  of  good  society."  Mrs.  Richards' 
manner  was  so  perfect  that  although  her  words 
jarred  a  bit  on  her  employer  he  was  sure  she 
meant  to  be  kind  and  that  her  advice  was  good. 

No  doubt  Esther  was  too  free  and  easy  with 
Mike.  Perhaps  Mammy  could  not  teach  deport 
ment  to  a  young  lady.  Esther's  manners 
seemed  to  him  to  be  very  good,  but  was  he  a 
judge  of  what  a  young  girl's  manners  should 
be?  Perhaps  not! 

"  Naturally,"  Mrs.  Richards  continued,  "  Miss 
Wallace  has  inherited  a  poise,  a  savoir  faire, 
from  her  ancestors.  Blood  will  tell  —  it  does 
tell  in  her  case.  She  is  the  most  aristocratic- 
looking  young  girl  of  my  acquaintance.  But 
a  good  finishing-school  in  New  York  would  be 
beneficial  to  any  girl,  even  the  most  refined." 

Blood  will  tell!  Dr.  Wallace  wondered  just 
what  it  would  tell.  Would  Esther  develop  the 
same  traits  as  her  mother?  What  were  these 
traits?  The  more  he  thought  about  it,  the 


190         Mammy's  White  Folks 

gladder  he  was  that  he  had  not  succumbed  to 
the  momentary  temptation  of  divulging  Esther's 
story  to  Mrs.  Richards.  Nothing  would  ever 
drag  it  from  him.  Of  that  much  he  was  sure. 
If  a  New  York  boarding-school  would  help  his 
child,  then  she  must  go. 

Mammy  agreed  with  her  master  that  it  was 
right  for  Esther  to  go.  It  was  hard  to  give 
her  up,  doubly  hard  for  Mammy  just  at  that 
time,  because  the  cataracts  on  her  eyes  had  now 
reached  the  point  where  an  operation  would  be 
necessary.  The  brave  old  soul  kept  this  to 
herself.  Esther  must  be  gone  and  settled  in 
her  new  life  before  she  would  confess  that  the 
time  had  come.  There  must  be  nothing  to  make 
the  child  sad  when  she  left  home. 

Young  Dr.  Dudley  was  the  only  person  who 
freely  and  boldly  declared  himself  opposed  to 
the  scheme. 

"  It  is  ridiculous,"  he  insisted.  "  What  can 
you  get  in  New  York  that  you  can't  get  here? 
A  boarding-school  will  put  all  kinds  of  airs  in 
your  head  and  ruin  you,  simply  ruin  you." 

"  You  went  out  of  your  own  city  for  an  edu 
cation  and  your  city  was  bigger  than  ours," 
said  Esther  with  a  toss  of  her  head. 

"But  I'm  a  man!" 

"  But  I'm  a  woman!  " 


A  Momentous  Decision         191 

Jim  laughed.  The  pretty,  glowing  girl  could 
assert  she  was  a  woman  all  she  wanted  to,  but 
he  could  think  of  her  only  as  the  delightful 
child  who  had  let  down  the  hem  of  her  dress 
and  tucked  up  her  curls  to  impress  him.  That 
had  been  three  years  ago,  but  those  years  had 
passed  very  quickly.  He,  Jim  Dudley,  did  not 
feel  a  day  older  than  he  had  on  that  night  in 
March  when  he  came  to  live  at  the  old  Grant 
house,  and  he  did  not  realize  that  Esther  was 
any  older  either.  He  would  miss  her  greatly  — 
quite  as  much  as  Mammy  or  Dr.  Wallace.  She 
was  like  a  dear  little  sister  to  him,  though  not 
exactly  a  sister  —  more  like  a  cousin  perhaps, 
a  cousin  close  enough  to  tease  and  romp  with, 
but  not  so  close  that  it  might  not  be  possible 
in  the  future  when  she  was  quite  grown  up  — 
"No,  that  is  absurd!"  thought  Jim.  Esther 
was  nothing  but  a  child,  and  would  be  a  child 
for  a  long  time  to  come. 

"  Well,  tell  me,  Mrs.  Methuselah,  why  are 
you  going?" 

"  Oh,  I  have  a  million  reasons.  First,  I  am 
going  to  study  drawing.  I  am  going  to  draw 
and  draw,  and  then  draw  some  more.  I  think 
I  can  do  something  if  I  only  work  hard  enough. 
I  have  been  doing  Mike  while  he  tinkered  with 
the  cars,  and  Miss  Hunter  said  some  fine  things 


192         Mammy's  White  Folks 

about  it.  I  am  to  take  those  studies  to  show 
at  the  art  school.  Besides,"  continued  the  girl, 
"  I  want  to  see  all  kinds  of  people  and  things. 
I  want  to  go  to  shows,  and  hear  music,  and  see 
the  animals  in  the  zoo,  and  ride  on  a  Fifth 
Avenue  bus,  and  see  the  Rembrandts  in  the 
Metropolitan.  Why,  Jim,  I  want  to  do  so  many 
things  it  would  make  your  head  swim." 

"But  how  about  all  of  us  at  home?  What 
are  we  to  do?  Don't  you  think  about  us?" 

"  Oh,  pooh !  You  can  do  very  well  without 
me  —  all  but  Mammy.  I  feel  terribly  bad  about 
leaving  Mammy.  Of  course,  Daddy  will  miss 
me  and  I'll  miss  him,  but  he  is  so  busy  all  the 
time  and  Mrs.  Richards  looks  after  his  office 
so  well,  I  reckon  he  will  hardly  know  I've  gone 
before  I'll  be  back." 

Jim  looked  keenly  at  the  girl.  A  hard  expres 
sion  had  come  in  her  eyes  when  she  mentioned 
Mrs.  Richards.  Was  she  jealous  of  the  person 
who  was  of  so  much  assistance  to  her  father? 
That  seemed  strange  for  a  child  of  her  genial, 
sunny  disposition. 

"  Mrs.  Richards's  daughter  is  coming  home, 
so  she  tells  me.  She  is  not  very  well,  and  her 
mother  wants  to  have  her  near  her." 

"  Yes,  poor  girl!  I  hope  she  will  be  better," 
said  Esther,  sympathetically. 


A  Momentous  Decision         193 

"  She  must  be  a  fine  girl." 

"  I  am  sure  she  is." 

"  She  has  studied  hard,  and  for  the  last  three 
or  four  winters  has  been  able  to  keep  herself 
at  school  by  teaching  and  coaching  in  the  sum 
mer.  She  is  certainly  an  admirable  girl." 

"  No  doubt! " 

"  Her  mother  is  very  proud  of  her.  All  of 
her  friends  must  be,"  continued  Jim  with  singu 
lar  obtuseness.  He  did  not  notice  Esther's 
rising  color  and  flashing  eyes. 

"  I  hope  you  are  going  to  make  as  good  use 
of  your  time  at  school  as  Miss  Richards  has 
done."  Jim  felt  himself  to  be  old  enough  to 
preach  a  bit  occasionally  to  his  little  friend. 

'  Well,  I'm  not,  Jim  Dudley,  so  there!  You 
need  not  be  holding  up  the  daughter  to  me. 
I've  had  the  perfect  mother  before  my  eyes 
until  I  am  sick  of  her,  and  if  the  daughter  is 
going  to  be  stuck  on  the  pedestal  by  her  side, 
I  am  glad  I  won't  have  to  be  here  to  see  it.  I 
know  Lucile  Richards  mends  her  gloves,  and 
keeps  her  veils  in  envelopes,  and  can  open  her 
bureau  drawers  and  find  her  things  in  the  dark 
because  they  are  arranged  so  straight.  I  know 
she  keeps  shoe-trees  in  her  shoes,  and  wraps  her 
best  hat  up  in  tissue  paper.  I  am  sure  she  can 
do  her  algebra  with  her  eyes  shut,  and  can  say 


194         Mammy's  White  Folks 

the  kings  of  England  backwards  and  front 
wards.  She  can  even  find  her  place  in  the 
prayer  book  on  special  Sundays  and  holidays. 
I  know  she  is  a  little  tin  angel,  and  you  are 
welcome  to  her.  So  there!  " 

The  young  man  gazed  at  the  girl  in  aston 
ishment.  He  had  never  seen  Esther  in  such  a 
temper,  and  over  nothing,  in  his  opinion.  He 
could  not  know  that,  for  many  months,  she  had 
repressed  all  this  feeling  about  the  Richards, 
mother  and  daughter,  and  now  his  praise  of  the 
daughter  was  more  than  she  could  stand. 

He  smiled  in  what  Esther  chose  to  consider 
a  superior  manner,  and  left  the  room. 

"Now  I've  made  the  prince  mad!"  Esther 
said  to  herself.  Jim  was  "the  prince"  to 
Esther  in  her  communings  with  herself.  "  But 
he  is  too  preachy,"  she  admitted.  "  He  talks 
more  like  a  minister  than  a  doctor.  Well,  he'll 
have  to  stay  angry,  that's  all." 


The  child  was  gone !  Mammy  put  up  a  brave 
front  until  Mike  turned  the  corner  in  his  best 
style.  She  knew  that  Esther  was  still  waving 
her  little  white  handkerchief,  but  her  half- 
blinded  eyes  were  totally  blinded  by  tears  as 
she  stumbled  into  the  house  and  groped  her  way 
back  to  the  kitchen. 

"  Gone,  gone!  And  I  couldn't  see  her  sweet 
face  —  nothin'  but  the  shine  roun'  her  haid  like 
one  er  them  there  angels  in  the  church  winder 
whar  her  hair  made  a  hello.  I  ain't  nebber 
gonter  see  her  no  mo'." 

"Aw,  g'long,  you  ol'  cry  baby!"  Always, 
in  moments  of  trial  or  trouble,  Mammy  found 
consolation  in  dialogues  with  her  dual  per 
sonality.  "  You's  a  gonter  see  her  plenty 
ernough.  Doc  Andy's  gonter  git  the  canteracks 
off' n  yo'  eyes  befo'  long  and  you's  gonter  be 
good  as  new." 

'  The  mascot's  done  lef  the  house  an'  good 
luck  done  gone  wif  her,"  whined  the  uncom- 
forted  one. 

195 


196         Mammy's  White  Folks 

"Dry  up,  nigger,  dry  up!  If'n  good  luck's 
done  lef  the  house,  it's  becase  you  is  a  hoodoo." 

'  You  see  if  n  'tain't  so !  You  mark  my 
words,  if  good  luck  ain't  done  gone.  We  done 
had  sebenteen  year  er  prosperity  an'  happiness, 
an'  now  is  the  time  fer  the  locuses  er  kerlamity 
ter  come  an'  deverstate  the  Ian'."  She  covered 
her  head  with  her  apron,  and  rocked  back  and 
forth,  moaning.  "The  seben teen-year  locuses  is 
a  gonter  feed  on  us  an'  eat  up  all  our  good 
luck.  They's  gonter  be  sadness  an'  misery  fer 
this  ol'  nigger  an'  fer  my  marster." 

'  They'll  be  sadness  an'  misery  plenty  if'n 
you  don't  git  ter  wuck.  They  won't  be  nothin' 
in  this  here  kitchen  fer  the  sebenteen-year 
locuses  ter  eat  on  if'n  you  don't  make  down 
yo'  braid  an'  put  them  herrin'  ter  soak." 

"  I  don't  make  no  min'  what  we  eats  or  what 
we  drinks  wif  my  Esther  baby  gone." 

"  Yes,  an'  you  knows  moughty  well  what  Doc 
Andy  will  tak  ter  drink  if'n  he  ain't  fed  up 
proper.  A  man  what  done  drowned  his  sowers 
onct  in  sperets  knows  whar  ter  git  comfort 
whin  things  goes  comtrary.  You  go  a-whinin 
'roun'  wif  a  face  as  long  as  a  ham,  an'  yo'  talk 
'bout  bad  luck  done  a-comin,  an'  'fo  you  knows 
it,  Doc  Andy'll  'member  the  goin's-on  er  his 
youth  an  he'll  return  ter  thim  lak  lil  pins  ter 


Almost  a  Proposal  197 

one  of  thim  there  magnits.  Git  up  from  here, 
nigger,  an'  git  ter  wuck." 

The  house  was  gloomy  without  Esther.  The 
two  doctors  looked  at  each  other  across  the  table 
and  wondered  how  they  could  stand  it.  Mammy 
stalked  to  and  from  the  kitchen,  her  face  set 
in  determined  lines.  Her  duty  was  clear.  She 
must  make  the  best  of  her  loneliness  and  cook 
all  the  doctor's  favorite  dishes  so  that  he  would 
not  turn  for  comfort  to  the  dread  liquor. 

Jim  Dudley  wondered  if  it  would  not  be 
perfectly  all  right  for  him  to  move  himself  and 
his  belongings  to  a  cheerful  apartment.  It  was 
ridiculous  for  him  to  go  on  living  with  Dr. 
Wallace  —  like  an  apprentice,  as  it  were.  He 
was  a  partner,  now,  no  longer  an  assistant,  and 
it  was  high  time  for  him  to  set  up  an  estab 
lishment  for  himself.  Whenever  he  had  sug 
gested  going,  so  many  objections  had  been 
raised  by  the  combined  household  that  he  had 
given  up  any  plans  he  might  have  made.  Every 
body  wanted  him  to  stay  and  he  had  been  happy 
to  comply.  But  with  Esther  gone,  the  place 
seemed  like  a  dungeon.  There  were  as  many 
windows  as  there  ever  had  been,  but  the  light 
did  not  seem  to  come  in  so  brightly  by  day,  and 
by  night  a  gloom  dimmed  the  lamps  as  though 
they  needed  trimming. 


198         Mammy's  White  Polks 

Jim  was  sorry  he  had  let  Esther  go  withour 
making  up  with  her,  but  she  had  borne  herself 
with  such  ludicrous  dignity,  for  one  of  her  years, 
whenever  he  had  been  present  after  their  little 
tiff,  that  he  had  been  unable  to  make  up  his 
mind  to  eat  the  humble  pie.  And  this,  appar 
ently,  was  what  Esther  expected  him  to  do.  He 
could  not  see  in  what  way  he  had  offended.  She 
must  realize,  he  reflected,  that  she  had  been 
very  rude  to  him.  But  now  she  was  gone,  and 
he  would  give  anything  to  have  apologized,  if 
that  was  what  she  expected  of  him.  She 
must  have  had  some  good  cause  for  flying  off 
the  handle,  as  she  had  done.  Perhaps  she  was 
nervous  over  leaving  her  father,  unhappy  over 
poor  Mammy,  sorry  she  had  decided  to  go.  At 
any  rate,  she  was  his  dear  little  friend,  and  he 
—  well,  he  was  years  older  than  she,  and  it 
was  up  to  him  to  make  her  going-away  a  happy 
one  rather  than  to  have  it  clouded  by  any  mis 
understanding. 

"  I'll  write  to  her  to-night,"  was  his  deter 
mination  as  he  seated  himself  at  the  sad  supper- 
table.  Opposite  him  sat  Dr.  Wallace,  looking 
like  he  was  at  a  wake,  while  Mammy  groped  her 
way  in  and  out  with  the  dishes  which  she  had 
prepared  with  such  care  and  which  nobody 
wanted  to  eat. 


Almost  a  Proposal  199 

"  As  for  leaving  Dr.  Wallace  —  I  can't  do  it. 
He  would  die  of  the  doleful  dumps  if  I  should. 
Why  doesn't  the  man  many  again?  He  needs 
a  wife,  and  Esther  would  be  better  off  with  a 
step-mother;  but  I  pity  the  lady  if  she  jumps 
on  her  as  she  did  on  me."  This  came  into  Jim 
Dudley's  mind  while  they  were  in  the  midst  of 
supper.  By  the  time  they  lit  their  cigars  the 
thought  came  back  to  him  with  renewed  force, 
and  added  to  it  was  the  idea  that  Mrs.  Richards 
was  the  very  wife  for  his  middle-aged  friend. 
Good-looking;  a  lady  —  all  but  her  voice;  effi 
cient  and  capable;  of  a  suitable  age,  and  so 
forth,  and  so  forth  —  yes,  she  was  the  very  one. 
He  wondered  he  had  never  thought  of  it  before. 
He  also  wondered  if  the  idea  had  ever  come 
into  Esther's  head  and  if  that  had  been  the 
reason  for  her  outbreak.  He  wondered  still 
more  if  the  idea  had  ever  come  into  the  well- 
ordered  brain  of  the  office  attendant. 

Jim  did  write  to  Esther  that  night.  He  went 
to  his  room  early,  leaving  a  silent  and  moody 
host  to  fight  out  his  loneliness  in  the  library, 
where  every  chair  and  picture  reminded  him 
in  some  way  of  his  child.  Jim  tried  to  talk  to 
him,  but  meeting  with  no  response,  he  finally 
gave  up  and  retired  to  write  to  his  little  friend. 

The  letter  was  a  long  one  and  not  at  all 


200         Mammy's  White  Folks 

preachy.  He  began  with  an  humble  apology 
for '  whatever  he  had  done  to  anger  her.  He 
told  her,  with  variations,  how  much  he  missed 
her  —  how  much  all  of  them  missed  her.  He 
carefully  refrained  from  any  mention  of  the 
office  attendant.  He  tried"  not  to  -seem  too 
grown-up,  and  indeed  he  felt  like  a  boy  as  he 
penned  the  long,  affectionate  letter.  As  he 
wrote,  the  thought  came  to  him  that  Esther 
might  meet  some  artist,  or  actor,  or  somebody, 
in  her  search  for  amusement  and  learning  who 
might  capture  her  warm  little  heart.  The  idea 
was  exceedingly  distressful.  He  knew  that  she 
was  too  young  for  him  to  speak  of  love.  But 
suppose  someone  else  did  not  think  so? 

"  Don't  fall  in  love,"  he  wrote,  "  and  if  you 
do,  promise  me  to  let  me  know  about  it  so  I 
can  come  to  New  York  and  extinguish  the 
wretch.  I  know  you  look  on  me  as  an  old  fossil, 
but  remember,  my  dear,  that  you  are  getting 
older  all  the  time  and  I  am  getting  younger. 
I  can't  ask  you  to  think  of  me  yet  as  anything 
but  a  dear,  dear  friend,  but  —  but  never  mind 
what! 

'  Your  devoted  servant, 

"Jim  Dudley." 

Esther  prized  that  letter  greatly.     It  was 


Almost  a  Proposal  201 

almost  a  proposal,  but  not  quite.  She  usually 
showed  her  letters  to  Marian,  but  this  one  she 
felt  was  too  personal.  She  locked  it  away  in 
her  desk,  and  whenever  she  felt  homesick,  got 
it  out  and  re-read  it*  It  was  a  great  comfort 
to  her,  a  girl  of  seventeen,  going  on  eighteen,  to 
have  had  a  near-proposal,  and  from  a  near- 
prince  at  that. 

When  Jim  finished  his  letter,  not  being  quite 
certain  of  Esther's  address,  he  went  back  to  the 
library  to  ask  Dr.  Wallace  for  it.  He  found 
the  older  man  sitting  in  his  armchair  gazing  at 
a  little  water-color  portrait  he  had  in  his  hand. 
It  was  an  amateurish  painting  of  a  pretty  lady 
with  very  yellow  hair  and  very  blue  eyes  and  a 
pensive  expression.  On  the  table  was  a  bottle 
recently  opened  and  near  it  stood  a  half  emptied 
glass. 

"Have  a  drink,  Dudley?" 

"No,  thank  you,  sir!"  Jim  was  astonished 
to  find  his  chief  indulging  himself  with  a  drink. 
It  was  a  well-known  fact  that  Dr.  Wallace  never 
touched  liquor  in  any  form. 

It  had  evidently  cheered  himtup.  He  looked 
much  more  genial  than  he  had  at  supper. 

"  I  have  just  been  writing  to  Esther  and  want 
her  address." 

"  You   lost   no   time,"   smiled   Dr.   Wallace. 


202         Mammy's  White  Folks 

"  I  thought  I  would  wait  until  to-morrow.  You 
had  better  have  a  drink.  This  bottle  of  whisky 
has  been  waiting  to  be  opened  for  more  than 
eighteen  years.  Pity  it  doesn't  age  in  the 
bottle  —  pretty  good,  though,  pretty  good !  " 
He  poured  himself  another  drink. 

"  What  is  that  picture?  I  have  often  noticed 
it  and  meant  to  ask,"  said  Jim.  He  was  sorry 
to  see  his  chief  taking  another  drink.  One  had 
evidently  had  its  effect  on  him. 

"  Esther's  mother.  She  did  it  from  imagina 
tion." 

"  Really?    It  looks  like  Esther  a  little." 

"  Yes,  so  it  does." 

"  Does  it  look  like  her  mother?  " 

"I  —  I  don't  know."  The  liquor  was  cer 
tainly  having  a  strange  effect  on  his  chief  if  he 
didn't  know  whether  a  picture  resembled  his 
dead  wife  or  not. 

"  I  have  been  telling  Esther  how  much  we 
miss  her,"  Jim  went  on.  "  The  truth  of  the 
matter  is,  Dr.  Wallace,  I  believe  I  am  in  love 
with  Esther.  I  didn't  know  it  until  she  got 
out  of  the  way,  and  I  know  she  is  too  young 
for  me  to  tell  her  so,  but  I  don't  want  any  long 
haired  artist  guy  getting  in  ahead  of  me.  I 
feel  somehow  that  I  should  tell  you,  her  father, 
about  it." 


Almost  a  Proposal  203 

Dr.  Wallace  looked  at  his  young  partner  in 
astonishment.  So  it  had  come,  the  time  when 
he  must,  in  honor  bound,  tell  of  Esther's  birth! 
He  knew  it  would  come  some  time  —  not  for 
years  and  years,  he  had  hoped  —  and  here  it 
was  upon  him.  No  doubt  the  liquor  made  it 
possible  for  him  to  break  the  silence  of  all  these 
years.  It  was  warming  up  his  veins,  and  his 
head  seemed  very  clear  and  light.  The  whole 
scene  came  back  to  him  with  vividness. 

The  men  talked  until  far  in  the  night.  Dr. 
Wallace  told  Jim  the  story  of  the  foundling, 
leaving  out  nothing,  not  even  the  old  serge 
jacket  and  the  bits  of  lawn,  and  the  pattern 
for  baby-elothes. 

"  Poor  little  Esther,  poor  child,  poor  child!  " 
was  all  Jim  could  say. 

"  And  now,  perhaps,  you  had  better  not  send 
that  letter  —  that  is,  if  you  committed  yourself 
in  any  way.  A  man  doesn't  always  want  to  give 
his  name  to  a  nameless  one,"  said  Dr.  Wallace 
brokenly. 

"  Not  send  it!  Why,  my  dear  Doctor,  I  am 
going  out  to-night  to  mail  it.  Esther  is  Esther! 
As  for  her  poor  mother,  who  knows  what  she 
might  have  been?  She  may  have  been  all  her 
child  imagines  her  to  have  been,  and  if  that  is 
the  case,  she  was  good  and  pure." 


204         Mammy's  White  Folks 

The  older  man's  face  cleared,  and  he  gazed 
at  his  young  assistant  admiringly.  *  There  is 
no  expression  I  hate  so  much  as  4  Blood  will 
tell/  "  he  said,  "  and  it  seems  to  me  it  is  used 
oftener  about  my  child  than  any  other.  What 
will  it  tell,  and  why  should  it  tell  anything? 
If  only  she  will  never  know  about  her  mother! 
It  would  kill  her." 

"  She  never  shall,"  declared  Jim,  his  voice 
trembling. 

The  two  men  grasped  hands. 

"  Shall  I  put  the  bottle  back,  sir?  " 

"  Yes,  and  lock  it  up,  please." 


Chapter  18 
PLANNING  FOR  A  CATCH 

The  well-ordered  brain  of  the  office  attend 
ant  was  an  unsounded  depth  to  Jim  Dudley  — 
or  any  other  man,  for  that  matter.  The  calm 
exterior  she  presented  to  the  world  afforded 
no  indication  of  her  thoughts,  as,  day  in  and 
day  out,  she  sat  in  the  office  attending  to  her 
duties  and  plying  her  clever  needle  with  untir 
ing  precision  and  zeal. 

There  was  one  person  who  understood  thor 
oughly  what  was  under  that  calm  exterior,  and 
that  was  the  daughter,  Lucile.  Her  black  eyes 
searched  out  the  innermost  workings  of  her 
mother's  heart  and  mind,  as  surely  as  an  X-ray 
photograph  will  disclose  the  flaws  and  imper 
fections  of  the  photographed  object. 

It  may  be  that  Mrs.  Richards  did  not  care 
to  conceal  her  real  self  from  Lucile,  or  perhaps 
she  could  not.  At  any  rate,  mother  and  daugh 
ter  had  no  secrets  from  one  another.  What 
ever  roles  they  played  on  the  world's  stage, 
when  they  were  alone  together  they  could  drop 
their  parts  and  be  themselves. 

205 


206         Mammy's  White  Folks 

Mrs.  Richards  experienced  the  same  satisfac 
tion  in  being  able  to  let  herself  go  in  her 
daughter's  presence  that  a  stout  woman  might 
feel  in  loosening  her  stays.  To  doff  the  stiff 
tight  garb  of  perfectness  and  don  the  kimona 
of  human  frailties,  was  a  relief  indeed. 

Lucile  had  been  away  from  her  mother  for 
several  years.  A  pupil-teacher  during  the 
winter,  she  earned  her  living  in  the  summer  by 
coaching  children.  Her  health  had  been 
impaired  by  the  constant  work,  and  she  found 
it  necessary  to  take  a  rest.  Her  return  home 
had  fitted  very  well  into  her  mother's  plans, 
but  it  was  a  bitter  pill  for  the  girl  to  swallow. 
She  did  not  want  to  give  up.  Coming  home 
was  exceedingly  distasteful  to  her.  She  loved 
her  mother  after  a  fashion,  but  she  loved  her 
better  when  she  did  not  have  to  see  too  much 
of  her.  The  independent  life  she  had  led  for 
the  last  two  or  three  years  had  been  the  happiest 
time  of  her  youth,  and  she  did  not  relish  the 
restrictions  she  felt  sure  her  mother  would  put 
upon  her.  Lucile  did  not  mind  playing  a  part 
not  altogether  in  character,  but  she  preferred 
selecting  her  own  part,  uninfluenced  by  her 
mother.  The  comforts  and  luxuries  of  wealthy 
homes  where  she  had  spent  several  summers  in 
coaching  the  children  of  the  rich,  had  made  her 


Planning  for  a  Catch  207 

dissatisfied  with  the  simpler  life  of  her  girlhood. 

"  I  hate  poverty,"  she  declared  with  vehe 
mence  as  she  placed  a  light  delicatessen  supper 
on  the  table.  Her  mother  had  come  in  from  her 
day's  work.  "  Potato  salad,  sliced  ham,  baker's 
bread  and  cocoa  made  without  milk!  Day  after 
day  the  same  kind  of  stupid  food!  I  don't  see 
how  you  stand  it,  Mother." 

"  Oh,  I  have  an  excellent  dinner  every  day. 
That  bossy  old  darkey  at  Dr.  Wallace's  can  cook 
almost  well  enough  for  one  to  forgive  her  for 
her  disagreeable  ways,  and  the  doctor  is  a  lavish 
provider."  Mrs.  Richards  had  taken  off  her 
spotless  white  shirtwaist  and  linen  skirt,  and 
after  carefully  folding  them  up,  had  put  on  a 
pink-silk  kimona.  ;'  The  spoiled  daughter  left 
to-day  for  boarding  school.  Horrid  child! " 

"  In  what  way?  " 

"Oh,  every  way  as  far  as  I  am  concerned! 
While  she  takes  pains  to  hide  it,  I  can  see  she 
hates  me." 

"What  makes  her  hate  you?  Surely,  you 
have  been  polite  to  her."  There  was  an  open 
sneer  on  Lucile's  handsome  face. 

"  Certainly  you  know  me  well  enough  to  be 
sure  that  I  have  given  her  no  cause  for  dis 
liking  me.  Perhaps  she  divines  the  future,  and 
resents  the  relationship." 


208         Mammy's  White  Folks 

"  Mother!    Have  you  really  caught  him?  " 

"Almost!    He  doesn't  know  it  though." 

'  What  a  clever  mother  you  are !  "  There  was 
still  a  slight  sneer  on  the  girl's  lip,  but  her  black 
eyes  sparkled  with  appreciation  of  her  mother's 
ability. 

'*  Wait  until  the  ceremony  is  performed  before 
you  praise  me  too  highly.  *  There's  many  a  slip 
twixt  the  cup  and  the  lip,'  you  know,"  said  Mrs. 
Richards,  laughing  heartily  arid  loudly.  Nobody 
at  Dr.  Wallace's  had  ever  heard  Mrs.  Richards 
laugh  out  loud.  That  was  one  thing  Esther 
had  against  her. 

"  Mother,  are  you  absolutely  certain  my 
father  is  dead?  You  have  never  heard  it  for 
sure,  have  you? " 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  what  a  question  to  bring  up! 
Of  course  he  is  dead,  otherwise  he  would  have 
turned  up  long  ago  —  if  not  for  love  of  me,  for 
love  of  you.  It  has  been  about  eighteen  years 
now  since  he  deserted  me,  the  brute !  " 

"  I  wouldn't  call  him  names.  I  fancy  you 
nagged  him,  eh?  I  can  just  remember  him,  and 
I  must  say  he  had  you  skinned  a  block  in  some 
ways." 

'  You  say  that  because  you  are  just  like  him. 
He  didn't  know  the  first  thing  about  gratitude." 

Mother  and   daughter  often   spoke  to   each 


Planning  for  a  Catch  209 

other  with  perfect  frankness,  indulging  in  cut 
ting  truths,  but  they  seldom  got  angry,  seeming 
rather  to  enjoy  the  luxury  of  speaking  out. 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  didn't  get  a  divorce 
years  ago.  Then  his  being  alive  or  dead  would 
make  no  difference  in  your  plans." 

"  A  divorce  indeed !  My  widowhood  has 
brought  me  in  too  many  returns  for  me  to  give 
it  up  for  a  mere  divorce.  When  a  woman  gets 
a  divorce,  there  is  always  somebody  to  say  it  was 
her  fault,  but  there  is  nothing  but  sympathy  for 
a  bona  fide  widow,"  said  the  mother,  helping 
herself  to  a  large  slice  of  ham. 

"  What  will  be  your  next  move?  " 

"  That  would  be  telling." 

"  You  don't  know  it,  then,"  laughed  the  girl. 

The  next  move  came  much  sooner  than  Mrs. 
Richards  had  planned  to  make  it.  She  was  a 
woman  who  bided  her  time.  She  had  felt  from 
the  first  day  of  her  work  as  office  attendant  that 
Dr.  Wallace  might  be  her  solution.  She  was 
tired  of  work;  tired  of  holding  the  lowly  place 
in  society  that  her  poverty  necessitated;  tired  of 
playing  the  part  of  noble  mother  and  bereaved 
wife;  tired  of  the  neat,  severely-plain  clothes 
that  she  affected.  As  the  wife  of  Dr.  Wallace, 
she  would  come  into  possession  of  what  r1 
pleased  to  consider  her  right  —  a  life  oe  ^m- 


210         Mammy's  White  Folks 

parative  ease,  good  clothes  and  a  place  in  society. 
She  was  still  young  in  appearance;  handsome, 
surely,  and  could  be  clever  and  agreeable  when 
she  wanted  to  be. 

She  liked  Dr.  Wallace,  although  in  her  heart 
she  had  a  humorous  contempt  for  him  because  of 
his  constant  deference  to  Mammy  and  his  silly 
adoration  of  Esther.  The  shrewd  woman  had 
early  realized  that  Esther  and  Mammy  were  her 
stumbling  blocks.  So  long  as  they  were  around, 
she  felt  she  could  never  bring  the  timid  doctor 
to  a  realization  of  her  charms,  but  once  they 
were  out  of  the  way,  she  felt  almost  sure  of  her 
ultimate  success. 

She  was  a  little  afraid  of  Peter  Roche,  too. 
There  was  something  searching,  disquieting,  in 
the  eye  of  the  silent  lawyer.  She  did  not  see 
him  often,  as  he  usually  called  at  night  after  she 
had  gone  home,  but  the  few  times  that  she  had 
met  him,  she  had  experienced  an  uneasy  feeling 
that  he  was  looking  through  her. 

Jim  Dudley  she  liked,  and  felt  that  he  liked 
her.  He  was  always  so  kind  and  courteous. 
She  wished  he  had  been  fifteen  years  or  so  older ; 
then  she  would  have  preferred  to  direct  her 
machinations  toward  him.  He  would  have  been 
a  much  more  desirable  partner  than  Dr.  Wallace. 
~L  had  not  taken  her  many  weeks  to  discover 


Planning  for  a  Catch  211 

that  the  young  man  had  an  independent  for 
tune,  although  he  chose  to  work  so  hard  in  his 
profession.  ' 

"  He  will  do  for  Lucile,  if  only  she  has  sense 
enough  to  play  her  cards  right,"  she  had  decided, 
but  she  said  nothing  to  the  girl  about  his  desir 
ability.  She  had  learned  that  the  way  to  manage 
her  daughter  was  to  seem  to  let  her  manage 
herself.  She  had  bidden  Esther  good-bye  with  a 
sense  of  elation. 

"One  stumbling  block  gone!"  she  exulted. 
"  Xow,  if  only  the  old  darkey  could  be  shipped 
off  somewhere!" 


Chapter  19 
MAMMY  LOSES  HER  WAY 

Mammy  was  planning  for  the  operation  on 
her  eye.  She  had  determined  to  get  the  house 
in  apple-pie  order,  after  which  she  would  be 
free  to  take  in  a  young  colored  girl  and  train 
her  in  the  way  she  should  go.  When  the  new 
girl  had  learned  to  cook  the  dishes  most  accept 
able  to  her  master,  Mammy  planned  to  go  to 
bed,  have  the  cataracts  removed  from  her  eyes 
and  direct  the  household  from  her  pillow.  She 
had  found  the  right  girl,  if  such  a  one  existed, 
but  Mammy  had  little  use  for  the  rising  gen 
eration  of  "  free  niggers."  Just  as  soon  as  she 
could  get  the  linen  press  in  order  and  place 
clean  papers  on  the  pantry  shelves,  she  planned 
to  start  in  on  the  new  servant. 

Her  sight  was  growing  dimmer  and  dimmer. 

"  Minds  me  er  that  time  the  sun  got  'clipped 
an*  all  the  chickens  wint  ter  roost  in  the  day 
time,"  she  told  Dr.  Dudley,  who  had  inquired 
how  she  felt.  "  Our  ol'  blue  hin  done  laid  two 
aigs  that  day.  She  wa'  allus  a  befo'  han' 

212 


Mammy  Loses  Her  Way       213 

chicken  from  the  fust  beginnin'.  She  bus' 
through  her  shell  whin  the  res'  of  the  settin' 
wa'n't  studyin'  'bout  hatchin'  fur  two  days  an' 
had  ter  be  raised  behin'  the  kitchen  stove  in  a 
barskit.  Whin  she  got  ter  the  pullet  age,  she 
started  in  ter  layin'  'thout  no  emcouragemint 
an'  she  kep'  it  up  stiddy.  That  oP  hin  wa'  allus 
af eerd  she  wouldn't  git  fust  go  at  a  nist,  an'  she 
used  ter  do  her  wuck  fust  thing  in  the  mawnin', 
pretty  nigh  by  sunnup.  She  wa'  quick  ter  hop 
on  the  roost,  too.  That  time  what  I  wa'  a-talkin 
bout,  whin  the  sun  got  'cupped,  ol'  Blue,  she 
got  on  the  roost  as  soon  as  it  beginned  ter  grow 
darksome  an'  she  wint  off  ter  sleep  lak  the 
'spectable  hin  she  wa'  raised  ter  be.  Bless 
Gawd,  though,  whin  the  sun  corned  out  from 
behim  the  darkness,  that  ol'  hin  hopped  down 
from  her  perch  an'  'thout  no  ado  whatsomever 
she  got  in  that  nist  an'  'complished  a  puffec'ly 
good  aig  —  the  sicond  one  that  day." 

Dr.  Dudley  laughed.  He  often  went  into 
the  kitchen  to  have  a  little  chat  with  Mammy. 
He  liked  to  have  her  talk  to  him  about  Esther, 
and  of  course  nothing  gave  the  old  woman 
greater  pleasure. 

'  What  a  delightful  old  hen  was  old  Blue ! 
She  must  have  been  a  valuable  asset." 

"  She  wa'n't  a  setter  at  all.     It  looked  lak 


214         Mammy's  White  Folks 

she  didn't  want  ter  be  worrited  with  a  stiddy 
fambly.  She  lef '  settin'  ter  the  lazy  ones  what 
didn't  min'  stayin'  up  in  the  baid  fer  three 
weeks  time.  OF  Blue  wa'  alms  up  an'  doin'. 
Whin  she  got  that  early  aig  laid  she  uster  hep 
scratch  fer  the  lil  chicks  what  wa'  onlucky  'bout 
bugs  an'  sich." 

Not  many  weeks  after  Esther  left  for  New 
York,  the  morning  came  when  Mammy  could 
see  nothing  but  a  shimmer  of  light.  She  had 
miscalculated.  The  linen  press  was  in  order, 
and  the  pantry  shelves  had  fresh  papers,  but 
the  new  servant  had  not  been  broken  in  —  had 
not  even  arrived  for  training.  She  was  to  have 
started  that  very  day. 

Jim  Dudley  had  gone  on  a  visit  to  Kentucky, 
and  Dr.  Wallace  had  been  called  out  of  town 
to  see  an  ailing  patient  in  a  neighboring  county. 
Mammy  had  spent  the  night  alone  in  the  old 
house.  She  had  worked  late,  determined  to 
have  everything  exactly  right  as  an  example  to 
the  incoming  maid. 

"  She  cyarn't  say  she  foun*  ary  dirt  here,  an* 
no  chany  what  she  kin  say  wa'  cracked  whin  she 
come,"  she  muttered  as  she  put  the  finishing 
touches  to  an  all  but  perfect  kitchen. 

"  She  kin  'clar  what  she  choose  ter  'clar," 
Mammy's  second  voice  blurted  out  in  aggres- 


Mammy  Loses  Her  Way       215 

sive  tone.  "  Free  nigger  merlatters  ain't  'ticu- 
lar  'bout  the  truf." 

Mammy  busied  herself  locking  the  doors  and 
windows.  She  went  from  room  to  room,  care 
fully  bolting  and  barring. 

In  the  dining-room  she  stopped  in  front  of 
the  sideboard.  She  passed  her  hands  over  the 
array  of  shining  silver:  christening  mugs  which 
had  belonged  to  dead  and  gone  Wallace  babies; 
a  massive  service  presented  to  a  colonial  ancestor 
in  token  of  some  diplomatic  mission  in  which  he 
had  been  successful;  a  loving  cup  supposed  to 
have  belonged  to  George  Washington.  All  of 
them  safe!  She  opened  the  drawers  and  passed 
her  fingers  lightly  over  the  rows  of  knives, 
forks  and  spoons,  counting  over  the  pieces  set 
by  set. 

"  Ain't  nary  one  er  them  a-missin  in  my  time," 
she  said,  proudly.  "  I  ain't  never  yit  th'owed  a 
piece  er  silber  out  in  the  slops  lak  I  hearn  tell 
the  young  gemeration  do.  They  ain't  a 
keferm'l" 

"  Ain't  you  afeerd  some  robber  mought  break 
in  an'  steal  all  that  there  silber  whilst  Doc  Andy 
is  away? "  came  the  timorous  and  whining  voice. 

"  Robber  much !  You's  all  time  puttin' 
things  inter  my  haid." 

"  Well  they  mought." 


216         Mammy's  White  Folks 

'  Yes  an'  agin  they  moughtn't.  But  sence 
you  is  sich  a  'frait  cat  p'rhaps  I'd  jis'  as  well 
set  a  trap  fer  the  debbles.  I'll  jes'  barumcade 
the  do'  an*  winders." 

Laboriously  she  piled  chairs  in  front  of  the 
windows,  pushing  the  table  up  against  the  door 
leading  into  the  bath. 

"  Now,  if 'n  ary  one  comes  in,  he'll  bump  inter 
these  here  cheers  an'  the  noise'll  woken  me,"  she 
remarked  with  satisfaction  and  went  cheer 
fully  off  to  bed. 

Daylight  came  but  not  for  Mammy.  She  lay 
in  bed  some  time  after  she  had  awakened,  wait 
ing  for  dawn. 

"  High  time  the  sun  wa'  up,  but  th'ain't 
nebber  no  countin'  on  the  sun  these  days,"  she 
complained.  "  I  reckon  I  mought  as  well  git 
up  out'n  this  baid,  though.  Ev'ybody  cyarn't  be 
lazy." 

She  felt  for  her  matches  and  candle,  struck 
a  match,  knew  by  the  heat  against  her  fingers 
it  was  burning,  but  the  glimmer  of  flame  was 
so  faint  aand  hazy  it  made  no  more  light  than 
the  new  moon  on  a  misty  night.  She  struck 
another  and  another. 

Suddenly  the  truth  dawned  on  her.  "  I 
wa'n't  spectin'  it  so  soon,"  she  said.  Sadly  and 
slowly  the  poor  old  woman  dressed  herself.  Her 


Mammy  Loses  Her  Way       217 

orderly  habits  made  it  a  simple  thing  for  her 
to  find  her  clothes  and  put  them  on. 

Slowly  she  descended  the  stairs,  cautiously 
feeling  her  way. 

"  Praise  Gawd,  I  got  everything  in  order  an' 
whin  that  there  merlatter  gal  comes  'praps  I 
kin  git  her  a-goin  with  the  wuck  'thout  lettin' 
on  I  is  plumb  blin'.  She  mought  be  onrespect- 
ful  ter  me  if  she  knowed  I  couldn't  see." 

"  The  kitchen  fire  fust  an'  the  kittle  on  ter 
bile.  Then  unlock  the  back  do'." 

Blindness  had  come  on  so  gradually  that  now 
that  it  had  arrived  Mammy  found  she  could  get 
along  surprisingly  well.  The  fire  was  already 
laid,  and  a  match  to  it  started  it  crackling 
cheerily. 

"  My  ears  is  as  good  as  ebber.  If  I  couldn't 
hear  the  fire  a-cracklin,  I  mought  hab  somethin' 
ter  growl  about.  Now  the  kittle !  " 

The  next  thing  on  Mammy's  matutinal  pro 
gram  was  opening  up  the  house  and  shaking 
down  and  filling  the  latrobe  stoves,  one  in  the 
dining-room  and  one  in  the  office.  Large  coal 
boxes  in  the  passage  outside  the  kitchen  were 
kept  filled  by  a  boy  whose  business  it  was  to 
come  after  school  and  split  kindling  and  bring 
up  coal.  Mammy  waged  a  never-ending  war 
fare  with  this  boy  whose  identity  changed  every 


218         Mammy's  White  Folks 

few  weeks.  Sometimes  he  was  white,  some 
times  colored,  sometimes  big,  sometimes  little, 
but  according  to  Mammy  he  was  always  tri 
fling  and  lazy,  inclined  to  track  dirt  in  her 
kitchen,  and  mix  the  anthracite  coal,  meant  for 
the  range  and  latrobes,  with  the  splint,  burned 
in  the  grates  alone. 

"  Done  mix  it  up  agin,"  she  said  angrily. 
"  He  thinks  'cause  my  eyes  ain't  so  good  as 
they  useter  was  that  I  cyarn't  tell  hard  coal 
from  sof  but  I'll  fool  him.  There's  a  lump 
er  sof  —  an'  there's  anudder!  Fixin'  ter  put 
out  the  fire  in  the  'trobe.  He  knows  sof  coal 
ain't  no  good  in  a  'trobe."  Grumblingly  she 
picked  out  the  larger  lumps  of  soft  coal.  "  I 
kin  tell  'em,  I  kin  tell  'em! " 

Mammy  was  strong  and  agile  for  her  years. 
A  scuttle  of  coal  was  nothing  for  her  to  lift. 
She  handled  it  with  ease. 

"  Dining-room  'trobe  fust  an'  thin  the  shut 
ters,"  she  mumbled.  'Tis  a  good  thing  I  know 
my  way  'roun'  this  here  house.  I  know  whicht 
side  er  ev'y  do'  the  han'le  is  on;  I  know  whar 
ev'y  stick  er  furnisher  is.  I  been  allus  holdin' 
ter  the  oF  time  saying :  '  A  place  f er  ev'ything 
an'  ev'ything  in  its  place.' ' 

"  Huh!  Specially  niggers!  "  growled  the  old 
woman's  alter  ego  in  a  tone  of  sarcasm.  "  You 


Mammy  Loses  Her  Way       219 

ain't  all  time  'membered  ter  keep  yo'se'f  in  yo' 
place.  Many  a  time  you  see  fit  ter  boss  the 
white  folks.  How  yo'  'splain  that? " 

"Well,  honey,  ain't  they  need  bossin'?  Wa' 
I  ter  set  still  an'  see  my  lil  baby's  life  a  mint 
jes'  fer  the  lack  er  a  lil  managin'?  Doc  Andy, 
he's  as  good  as  gol',  but  he  ain't  right  smart 
'bout  lots  er  things.  He's  too  scairt  er  women 
folks  ter  be  right  smart.  'Cose,  he's  a  moughty 
fine '  doctor,  moughty  fine." 

Mammy  had  made  her  way  to  the  dining- 
room  through  the  swinging  door  leading  into 
the  passage.  She  put  down  her  heavy  bucket 
for  a  moment  and  stood  erect,  the  better  to 
confront  her  accusing  self. 

"  If  I'd  a  listened  ter  you  an'  yo'  fraid  cat 
whirlings  'bout  not  meddlin'  in  white  folks  busi 
ness,  my  lil  Esther  baby  would  a  been  in  a 
orphamige,  mo'n  likely,  or  would  a  been  brung 
up  wif  ev'ybody  a-knowin  she  wa'  a  foumlin' 
'thout  no  certain  paremtage.  An'  look  at  her 
now !  Th'ain't  no  princuss  in  the  Ian'  what 
kin  hoi'  her  haid  higher." 

Triumphant  in  her  defense  she  stooped  and 
picked  up  the  scuttle  of  coal.  In  stopping  and 
turning  to  confront  her  accusing  other  self,  she 
had  lost  her  sense  of  location.  She  started  in 
what  she  thought  was  the  direction  of  the 


220         Mammy's  White  Folks 

latrobe  stove,  but  bumped  into  the  swinging 
door.  She  turned  in  another  direction  and 
excitedly  darted  forward. 

At  one  time  or  another  almost  everyone  has 
experienced  the  sensation  of  being  lost  amid 
familiar  surroundings,  of  groping  wildly  in 
the  dark  for  door  or  mantle  that  one  would 
have  sworn  was  right  under  his  hand  but  which, 
by  some  strange  miscalculation  of  distance  or 
direction,  proved  to  be  located  in  an  entirely 
different  part  of  the  room.  A  match  LSI  struck 
or  a  button  touched,  and  the  light  reveals  the 
mistake.  How  foolish  and  helpless  one  feels! 

"Whar  that  stove?  Thar  it  is!"  but  it 
proved  to  be  the  wall.  '  Well,  the  table  is  in 
the  middle  er  the  room,  that's  sho,  an'  whin  I 
reach  that,  I  kin  perceed." 

She  had  completely  forgotten  the  barricade 
she  had  formed  the  night  before,  and  with  one 
hand  outstretched,  the  other  still  firmly  grasp 
ing  the  heavy  bucket,  she  made  for  the  center 
of  the  room  —  at  least,  what  she  thought  was 
the  center.  No  table!  What  a  big  room  it 
was!  It  seemed  to  the  old  woman  to  stretch 
for  miles. 

;  'Trobe  has  went  out  or  I  could  see  the 
glow.  Sho  I  could  see  the  glow!  I  could  if'n 
I  could  git  clost  ter  it." 


Mammy  Loses  Her  Way       221 

She  made  another  essay  into  the  darkness. 
Again  she  came  up  against  a  blank  wall. 

"  Keep  ter  the  wall,  you  oP  idjit! " 

"  Cose!  Keep  ter  the  wall  an'  hump  yo'se'f. 
You  ain't  got  no  time  ter  be  a  trapsin'  roun' 
this  room." 

She  started  moving  rapidly  and  with  a  vio 
lent  impact  plunged  against  one  of  her  barri 
cades.  Her  forehead  struck  the  protruding  leg 
of  a  chair,  stunning  her.  She  grasped  wildly 
in  the  air.  Dropping  the  bucket  of  coal,  she 
caught  the  back  of  one  of  the  piled-up  chairs, 
pulling  over  the  barricade.  For  a  moment  she 
was  conscious  of  a  violent  pain  in  her  hip,  and 
then  darkness  ensued. 


Chapter  20 

THE  IDENTIFICATION  OF  MRS. 
RICHARDS 

"  I  rang  the  door  bell  repeatedly !  "  Mammy 
heard  someone  say  in  tones  a  little  sharp. 

She  had  been  lying  on  the  floor  for  what 
seemed  to  her  days  and  weeks.  She  had  no 
idea  where  she  was,  but  wherever  it  was,  it  was 
exceedingly  uncomfortable.  Some  heavy  object 
was  on  her  feet,  and  something  sharp  was 
sticking  in  her  chest.  With  her  fingers  she 
could  feel  small  hard  bits  of  something  all 
around  her,  and  the  same  hard  things  were 
under  her  back.  Whenever  she  would  try  to 
remember  what  had  happened,  she  would  feel 
herself  clutching  wildly  for  something,  she  knew 
not  what,  and  then  would  float  off  into  uncon 
sciousness.  One  thing  she  knew,  and  seemed 
to  know  it  whether  she  was  entirely  conscious 
or  not,  and  that  was  that  a  knife  blade  was  in 
her  hip. 

The  sharp  tones  of  a  woman's  voice  brought 
her  back  to  earth  when  she  was  floating  off 
again. 

222 


Identification  of  Mrs.  Kichards     223 

"  I  rang  the  door  bell  repeatedly! " 

Now  she  knew  where -she  was.  It  was  June 
and  the  baby  had  just  had  her  bath  and  was 
sleeping  on  the  back  porch.  She  had  weighed 
her  only  that  morning  and  Doc  Andy  had 
helped.  She  had  loitered  so  long  over  the 
baby's  bath  and  dressing  that  the  morning  was 
almost  gone  and  no  work  done.  She  must 
have  dozed  in  her  chair,  for  there  was  some 
body  at  the  front  door  and  she  had  not  heard 
the  bell.  Was  it  the  telephone?  No,  it  was  the 
back  door  after  all ! 

*  You  mus'  'scuse  me,  lady,  but  I  gits  so 
imfused  over  bells.  I  thought  it  wa'  the  phome. 
Won't  you  come  in  an'  set  a  spell?  Doc  Andy '11 
be  back  'fo'  long.  An'  what  a  pretty  lil  gal 
you  is  got  —  you  mus'  'scuse  me  —  I  never 
knowed  you  wa'  Mr.  Stanley's  wife  —  I  ain't 
nebber  knowed  he  had  a  wife  —  I  wouldn't  a 
hurt  yo'  feelin's  fer  nothin',  you  an'  yo'  lil 
gal's.  I  mought  a  knowed  you  wa'  his  wife, 
though.  I  could  a  tol'  by  yo'  voice  —  "  Again 
the  knife  was  in  her  hip  and  unconsciousness 
ensued. 

Mrs.  Richards  looked  down  on  the  uncon 
scious  form  of  one  of  her  stumbling  blocks  and 
smiled  grimly.  She  pushed  the  table  aside  and 
went  into  the  office.  Taking  down  the  receiver 


224         Mammy's  White  Folks 

of  the  telephone  she  called  the  number  of  the 
city  hospital. 

"  Please  send  an  ambulance  immediately  to 
Dr.  Wallace's  at  Seventy-seven  Garden  Street. 
Dr.  Wallace  is  out  of  town,  and  in  his  absence 
his  negro  cook  has  become  either  crazy  or  drunk. 

'  Yes,  I  am  Dr.  Wallace's  office  attendant. 
I  have  just  come  in  and  found  the  woman  lying 
on  the  dining-room  floor  under  a  pile  of  furni 
ture.  She  is  delirious.  Come  immediately, 
please,  as  I  am  alone  in  the  house." 

In  an  incredibly  short  time  the  ambulance, 
with  its  white-coated  crew,  arrived.  Mrs. 
Richards,  in  the  meantime,  had  busied  herself 
opening  up  the  house  and  turning  on  the  drafts 
of  the  stoves.  She  did  not  put  the  dining-room 
in  order,  preferring  to  leave  it  just  as  it  was 
when  she  found  poor  Mammy  lying  under  the 
pile  of  chairs  and  on  the  overturned  anthracite 
coal.  Taking  a  half-filled  bottle  of  brandy  from 
the  sideboard,  she  hurriedly  poured  some  into 
a  glass  and  placed  both  bottle  and  glass  on  the 
table. 

"  Here  she  is !  I  think  she  is  drunk,"  she 
whispered  to  the  brisk  young  doctor  in  charge. 

The  dining-room,  usually  so  orderly,  cer 
tainly  presented  a  wild  scene.  No  wonder  the 
young  surgeon  readily  fell  into  agreement  with 


Identification  of  Mrs.  Richards     225 

Mrs.  Richards'  diagnosis.  He  lifted  the  chairs 
off  the  old  woman,  giving  her,  great  relief.  She 
opened  her  sightless  eyes  and  smiled. 

"  Now  take  that  there  knife  out'n  my  hip  an' 
I'll  git  up  from  here  an'  git  ter  wuck." 

'What  is  the  matter  with  you?"  asked  the 
doctor,  sternly. 

"  Gawd  in  Hebben  knows!  I's  kinder  dazed 
lak.  I  thought  the  baby  was  sleep  on  the  po'ch 
an'  a  lady  what  tu'ned  out  ter  be  Mrs.  Richards 
but  what  was  sho  'nough  Mrs.  Stanley  done 
come  roun'  the  back  an*  spoke  kinder  sharp 
lak  ter  me  'bout  the  do'  bell.  But  who  is  you, 
please,  sir? " 

Mrs.  Richards  smiled  knowingly  at  the  doctor. 

"  Sounds  rather  intoxicated,  don't  you 
think?  "  she  whispered,  pointing  at  the  brandy 
bottle. 

"Well,  rather." 

'  Who  is  you? "  persisted  Mammy. 

"  I  am  Dr.  Tracy  from  the  city  hospital.  I 
have  an  ambulance  out  here  ready  to  take  you 
off." 

"  Oh,  Gawd  in  Hebben,  mister,  please  don't 
take  me  ter  no  hawspital.  Doc  Andy  alms  been 
a-promisin  me  I  shouldn't  nebber  go  ter  no 
hawspital.  He  done  tol'  me  time  an'  time  agin 
that  they  kin  op'rate  right  up  in  my  own  room. 


226         Mammy's  White  Folks 

I  done  got  it  as  clean  as  a  bis'it  boa'd,  an  I  kin 
git  right  up  in  the  baid,  an'  he  done  said  it 
ain't  much  of  a  op'ration,  an*  I'll  be  up  an' 
doin'  in  a  short  while." 

'  Well,  I'll  have  to  take  you  there  now  and 
you  can  sleep  off  your  drunk,  and  then  we  can 
see  about  it,"  laughed  the  young  man.  He  was 
not  a  callous,  unfeeling  young  man,  but  ambu 
lance  work  for  the  city  hospital  had  dulled  the 
finer  sensibilities  that  he  had  first  carried  to  his 
work. 

"  Sleep  off  what? "  Mammy  tried  to  get  up 
but  fell  back  with  a  groan. 

"Never  mind,  old  woman!  You  had  better 
be  glad  it  isn't  a  jail  we  are  taking  you  to."  He 
called  the  stretcher-bearers,  and  without  more 
ado  Mammy  was  lifted  up  and  borne  away. 

"  What  I  done  say?  "  she  muttered.  "  Good 
luck  done  gone  wif  the  mascot ! "  After  that 
she  knew  nothing  more. 

After  reaching  the  hospital  a  more  thorough 
examination  of  the  patient  disclosed  the  fact 
that  the  old  woman  had  sustained  serious 
injuries.  Her  hip  had  been  fractured.  The 
doctors  also  discovered  the  cataracts  on  her  eyes. 
With  skillful  hands  the  fractured  bones  were 
set,  and  while  Mammy  was  still  under  the  influ 
ence  of  ether,  her  eyes  were  operated  upon  and 


Identification  of  Mrs.  Richards     227 

the  troublesome  cataracts  removed.  When  the 
effects  of  the  anaesthetic  finally  wore  off, 
Mammy  found  herself  in  a  comfortable  bed, 
covered  by  fresh,  clean  sheets.  Where  she  was, 
she  did  not  know.  She  put  up  her  hand  and 
felt  the  bandage  on  her  head. 

"Whar  is  I?" 

"  You  are  in  your  bed  in  the  hospital, 
Auntie."  The  voice  was  kind  and  sweet.  "  You 
have  broken  your  hip,  but  it  has  been  set,  and 
the  cataracts  have  been  taken  off  your  eyes, 
too." 

"An'  who  is  you?" 

"  I'm  the  nurse." 

"  How  come  I  got  here?  Doc  Andy  done 
said  —  " 

"  Never  mind,  now;  you  must  go  to  sleep 
and  get  well." 

Mammy  lay  quite  still.  Little  by  little  the 
whole  thing  came  back  to  her.  She  remem 
bered  the  barricade  she  had  formed  in  the 
dining-room;  she  remembered  waking  in  the 
morning  and  finding  she  was  blind;  she  remem 
bered  lighting  the  kitchen  fire,  unlocking  the 
back  door  and  putting  on  the  kettle.  Gradually 
her  experience  in  the  dining-room  came  back  to 
her.  Slowly  and  painfully  she  recalled  her 
wanderings  around  the  room  with  the  cofel 


228         Mammy's  White  Folks 

bucket  in  her  vain  search  for  the  latrobe  stove. 

"  Cose,  you  couldn't  fin'  the  table  whin  you 
done  shove  it  aginst  the  do'/'  she  chuckled. 
"Ol  fool  nigger!" 

She  remembered  hitting  her  head  against 
something  hard  and  sharp  and  falling  to  the 
floor. 

"  Cheer  laig,  tha's  what  it  wa' !  An'  them  lil 
hard  things  I  wa'  a-layin  on  wa'  hard  coal, 
moughty  hard!  An  thin  Mrs.  Stanley  corned 
in  —  no,  it  wa'n't  Mrs.  Stanley,  it  wa'  Mrs. 
Richards  —  but  she  said  the  same  thing  as  Mrs. 
Stanley  'bout  ringin'  the  bell  repeatedly  an' 
she  had  the  same  voice.  Great  Gawd!  If'n 
you  ain't  the  fooles'  nigger  they  is!  They  is 
one  an'  the  same!  I  been  a-tryin  ter  'member 
ev'y  sence  she  corned  ter  wuck  ter  our  house 
wha'  I  done  hearn  that  voice  befo'.  Whe'fo* 
she  done  call  herse'f  Richards  if'n  she  is  Stan 
ley?  What  she  hidin'?  I  mought  er  knowed 
whin  my  Esther  baby  done  tuck  sich  a  hatred 
er  her  that  they  was  something  wrong  'bout 
her.  An'  here  I  is  a  laid  up  in  the  baid  with  a 
bus'ed  hip  jint,  an'  blin'  besides!  Well,  I's 
gonter  bide  my  time,  bide  my  time ! " 


Chapter  21 
A  SATISFACTORY  EXPLANATION 

The  mending  of  a  broken  hip,  especially  in 
the  case  of  a  person  as  old  as  Mammy,  is  a  slow 
process.  The  bandage  was  taken  from  her  eyes 
within  a  few  days,  but  the  plaster  cast  was  to 
stay  on  her  poor  fractured  hip  for  many  weeks. 

Dr.  Wallace  was  deeply  distressed  at  the  con 
dition  of  his  faithful  old  servant.  He  had 
returned  from  his  trip  a  few  hours  after 
Mammy  had  been  borne  away  to  the  hospital. 
Mrs.  Richards  expressed  regret  that  she  had 
not  been  able  to  get  the  dining-room  in  order 
before  the  master  came  home,  but  she  had  been 
so  busy,  she  said,  with  things  that  seemed  more 
important  that  she  had  been  unable  to  restore 
order  out  of  chaos. 

"  How  could  it  have  happened? "  asked  the 
troubled  doctor. 

She  pointed  silently  to  the  brandy  bottle. 

"Not  Mammy!  Why,  Mrs.  Richards,  she 
has  never  taken  too  much  to  drink  in  her  life. 
She  hates  the  stuff,  in  fact." 

Mrs.  Richards  smiled. 

229 


230         Mammy's  White  Folks 

"  Have  you  any  reason  to  think  she  does  not 
hate  it?  "  questioned  the  doctor. 

"  Oh,  you  must  know  your  servant  better 
than  I  do." 

"But,  have  you?" 

"  I  am  not  inclined  to  make  trouble  in  a 
household,  but  I  have  known  several  times  that 
the  old  woman  was  intoxicated.  This  morning 
she  insisted  that  I  was  some  woman  whose  name 
I  have  never  even  heard  before.  Some  fancied 
resemblance  in  voice,  I  think,  put  it  in  her  head. 
She  was  quite  disagreeable  in  her  insistence." 

"  That  wasn't  like  Mammy." 

"  No,  and  for  that  reason,  when  I  saw  the 
opened  brandy  bottle  and  the  condition  of  the 
room,  I  naturally  came  to  the  conclusion  that 
she  was  a  little  the  worse  for  the  liquor." 

"  Poor,  poor  Mammy!  She  misses  Esther  so 
much.  I  am  sure  that  that  is  the  reason.  There 
is  nothing  like  loneliness  for  making  a  person 
seek  solace  in  alcohol." 

Mrs.  Richards  was  very  helpful  and  sympa 
thetic.  She  immediately  took  the  reins  of  house 
keeping  in  her  hands,  and  when  the  girl  arrived, 
who  was  coming  to  be  trained  by  Mammy,  Mrs. 
Richards  put  her  to  work  with  as  much  celerity 
as  Mammy  herself  would  have  shown.  Dinner 
was  served  at  exactly  the  same  hour,  and  while 


A  Satisfactory  Explanation     231 

it  lacked  the  divine  touch  of  the  old  colored 
cook,  there  was  nothing  to  complain  of  in  the 
food,  and  the  table  was  certainly  beautifully 
set. 

Mrs.  Richards  was  determined  that  Mammy 
was  not  to  be  missed.  She  would  show  Dr. 
Wallace  that  the  old  woman  was  not  necessary 
to  his  comfort.  Of  course  he  could  keep  up  his 
sentimental  attachment  to  the  ancient  darkey  if 
he  was  of  a  mind  to,  but  he  was  to  learn  that  she 
was  not  the  only  housekeeper  in  the  world. 
Maud,  the  new  girl,  was  green  but  teachable, 
and  she  was  vastly  pleased  to  have  the  more 
important  place  that  Mammy's  timely  illness 
thrust  her  into.  A  butler  was  engaged,  and 
finally  a  housemaid.  All  this  entailed  a  greater 
expenditure,  but  Dr.  Wallace  knew  nothing  of 
expenses  and  cared  nothing  about  them.  Money 
was  flowing  into  his  coffers  from  his  now 
enormous  practice,  and  it  was  rather  pleasant 
to  have  his  establishment  run  on  a  more  lavish 
basis.  The  fact  that  it  took  two  maids  and  a 
man  to  do  the  work  that  Mammy  had  accom 
plished  formerly  all  by  herself  did  not  impress 
him.  He  had  always  wanted  more  servants, 
but  the  old  woman  had  rebelled  and  objected 
whenever  he  had  broached  the  subject. 

Many  and  frequent  were  Dr.  Wallace's  visits 


232         Mammy's  White  Folks 

to  the  bed-ridden  Mammy.  He  saw  to  it  tHat 
she  had  every  comfort  in  the  colored  ward  of 
the  city  hospital.  A  private  room  was  engaged 
for  her,  and  Dr.  Wallace  insisted  upon  having 
a  private  nurse  for  her,  although  the  old  woman 
almost  worried  herself  into  a  fever  over  the 
expense  that  she  was  sure  all  of  these  luxuries 
must  entail. 

"  I  ain't  wuth  it,  I  ain't  wuth  it! "  she  would 
moan. 

'  Why,  Mammy,  you  are  worth  whatever  I 
can  do  for  you." 

Dr.  Wallace  said  nothing  to  the  old  woman 
about  the  brandy  bottle.  The  fact  that  the 
kindly  old  soul  had  fallen  from  grace  had  been 
a  severe  shock  to  him.  He  could  not  under 
stand  it !  Mammy  intoxicated !  How  it  had 
come  about  he  could  not  imagine,  but  Dr.  Wal 
lace,  in  the  course  of  his  extensive  practice,  had 
known  of  people  who  became  addicted  to  alcohol 
late  in  life  —  old  people,  who,  like  Mammy,  had 
never  indulged  in  stimulants  in  their  youth. 
Indeed,  thought  the  doctor,  these  cases  were 
the  saddest  of  all.  He  felt  it  was  loneliness 
that  had  caused  it.  Had  he  not  begun  to  resort 
to  alcohol  to  comfort  himself?  When  he  was 
tired,  it  seemed  to  rest  him;  lonely,  it  cheered 
him  up;  wakeful,  it  put  him  to  sleep.  Could 


A  Satisfactory  Explanation     233 

he  blame  the  old  woman  when  she  had  resorted 
to  a  similar  remedy? 

Maud,  the  new  cook,  puffed  up  with  her  own 
importance  and  delighted  with  the  confidence 
reposed  in  her  by  Mrs.  Richards,  was  not  so 
reticent  on  the  subject  of  the  old  woman's  sup 
posed  shortcomings.  She,  too,  made  many  and 
frequent  visits  to  her  injured  predecessor,  and 
as  soon  as  Mammy  was  well  enough  to  have  the 
nurse  leave  her  alone  with  her  visitors,  the  girl 
took  great  delight  in  tormenting  her.  She 
was  not  the  meek  and  lowly  person  Mammy  had 
imagined  her  to  be;  in  fact,  she  was  quite  the 
reverse.  The  truth  of  the  matter  was  that 
Mammy,  up  and  doing,  Mammy,  the  capable 
cook  and  housekeeper  at  Dr.  Wallace's,  the 
beloved  and  trusted  friend  of  her  master,  the 
foster  mother  of  her  young  mistress,  was  very 
different  from  the  old  bed-ridden  creature  with 
a  broken  hip,  a  bandage  over  her  sightless  eyes 
and  her  once  busy  and  capable  hands  helplessly 
and  nervously  picking  at  the  coverlid. 

"  How  are  you  to-day,  Aunt  Mammy? " 
asked  the  girl,  seating  herself  close  to  the  bed. 

"Tollable,  jes'  tollable!  How's  all  ter 
home?" 

"  Oh,  we  alls  is  comin'  on  fine.  'Cose,  we  had 
right  smart  cleanin'  an'  straightenin'  up  to  do 


234         Mammy's  White  Folks 

after  we  got  there,  but  we  got  it  all  clean  now, 
an'  amongst  us  we  keeps  it  gran'." 

'  Who  you  mean  by  you  alls?  Mrs.  Richards 
ain't  a-cleanin  up,  air  she?  An*  what  you  foun' 
ter  clean  up?  I  done  lef  it  as  clean  as  the 
pa'm  er  my  ban',  an*  you  knows  it." 

The  girl  laughed  derisively. 

"  You  might  call  it  clean,  but  the  butler  he 
say  —  " 

"The  butler!" 

"  Umhum,  the  butler!  He  say  he  ain't  never 
come  in  a  house  where  he  had  to  work  so  hard 
to  git  rid  of  lef  over  dirt." 

"  What  butler  you  talkin'  'bout?  "  Mammy's 
curiosity  was  thoroughly  aroused. 

"Dr.  Wallace's  butler!  Don't  you  know  we 
all  is  got  a  butler  now  an*  a  housemaid?  Sho, 
Aunt  Mammy,  you  can't  'spect  us  ladies  an' 
gemman  of  color,  what  ain't  been  born  in 
slavery  like  you  is,  to  work  like  slaves.  You 
ain't  never  knowed  nothin'  better,  but  we,  what 
is  born  free  an'  ekal,  we  knows." 

Mammy  lay  so  still  for  a  moment  that  Maud 
was  scared.  Had  she  actually  killed  the  old 
woman  with  her  news  about  the  butler  and  the 
housemaid?  The  old  woman's  face  looked 
indescribably  gaunt,  with  the  upper  part 
swathed  in  bandages,  and  the  knotted  old  hands 


A  Satisfactory  Explanation     235 

were  motionless,  lying  palm  upward  as  though 
their  work  was  done. 

A  harsh  laugh  bursting  from  the  tightly-shut 
mouth  satisfied  the  girl  that  her  victim  was  still 
alive,  and  so  she  continued. 

"  I  reckon  Dr.  Wallace  was  right  put  out 
about  your  actin'  the  way  you  done  —  his  fine 
French  brandy  an'  all." 

"  What  you  mean?  "  gasped  Mammy. 

"  I  reckon  you  is  shamed,  an'  now  you  think 
you  kin  make  out  you  don't  know  what  I  mean. 
I  mean  your  gittin'  so  drunk  when  Dr.  Wallace 
lef  you  in  charge  of  his  house.  It  was  too 
bad  you  got  too  happy  to  put  the  bottle  away. 
If  you  hadn't  a  lef  that  out,  nobody  wouldn't 
have  spicioned  you,  'cept  of  course  the  dining- 
room  did  look  something  awful.  My  mother 
wouldn't  hardly  believe  me  when  I  tol'  her, 
'cause  she  says  she's  done  knowed  you  ever 
sence  you  come  to  this  town  to  live,  when  you 
jined  her  sassiety,  the  Lincoln  No.  1,  an'  she 
ain't  never  dreamed  of  you  bein'  that  kind. 
She  says  all  the  club  members  was  'stonished, 
an*  Brer  Jackson  say  you  ought  to  be  read  out 
in  meetin'." 

Mammy  was  so  quiet  that  Maud  wondered 
if  the  old  woman  had  grasped  the  true  import 
of  her  insults.  Her  old  face  looked  like  a 


236         Mammy's  White  Folks 

bronze  mask  as  she  lay  there.  And  was  this 
her  reward?  After  her  long  and  faithful 
service  to  the  Wallaces  in  slavery  and  in  free 
dom,  was  she  finally  to  be  branded  as  one  who 
got  drunk  and  betrayed  her  master's  trust; 
one  who  left  dirt  for  others  to  clean  up;  one 
who  was  spoken  of  in  her  club  and  church  as 
disreputable?  She  almost  wished  she  might 
die  —  but  no,  not  yet  —  not  until  she  knew  that 
her  Esther  baby  was  safely  married  to  the 
young  Kentuckian;  not  until  her  work  was 
finished. 

She  reached  out  and  tapped  her  bell  on  the 
table. 

"What  is  it  Mammy?"  asked  the  kindly 
nurse  who  had  her  in  charge. 

"  I  want  to  see  Doc  Andy  some  time  terday. 
I'll  git  you  to  phome  him,  lady,  if  'tain't  too 
much  trouble;  an'  I'll  git  you  ter  show  this 
nigger  gal  out  an'  leave  word  to  the  office  that 
'Ria  Johnson,  whose  sir  name  am  Mammy, 
ain't  receivin'  no  mo'  niggers.  It  don't  make 
no  diffunce  who  they  is,  club  mimbers,  preach 
ers,  nor  nothin'.  I'm  better  comp'ny  ter 
myself." 

Dr.  Wallace  came  quickly.  The  nurse's  voice 
sounded  a  little  excited  as  it  reached  him  over 
the  telephone. 


A  Satisfactory  Explanation     237 

"  What  is  it,  Mammy?  You  are  not  worse, 
are  you? " 

"  No,  Doc  Andy,  I  is  better  —  mos'  well. 
They's  gonter  take  off  the  bandanages  ter- 
morrow.  My  hip  is  gittin*  on  tollable  an'  don't 
pain  me  over  much." 

"  Do  you  have  everything  you  want? " 

"  Sho,  I  do!  An'  my  nuss  treats  me  jes'  lak 
I  wa'  white.  I  is  done  change  my  min'  bout 
hawspitals.  Niggers  ain't  got  no  since  nohow." 

'  What  did  you  want  with  me?  "  asked  the 
doctor,  smiling  down  on  his  old  friend. 

"  I  want  ter  know  if  you  b'lieved  I  wa' 
drunk  whin  I  fell  down  an'  broke  my  hip." 

'  Why  —  why  —  dear  old  Mammy,"  Dr. 
Wallace  took  one  of  the  gnarled  hands  in  his 
affectionately,  "y°u  mustn't  worry  about 
that- 

"  Then  you  b'lieved  it,  too? " 

"  I  did  not  blame  you  in  the  least.  You  were 
lonesome,  I  know.  I  never  would  have  thought 
of  it,  if  you  had  not  left  the  brandy  bottle  out." 

'What  brandy  bottle?  Who  said  I  done 
lef  it  out? " 

"  Mrs.  Richards  had  not  had  a  chance  to  get 
the  dining-room  in  order,  and  she  reluctantly 
pointed  it  out  to  me." 

"Well,  Doc  Andy,   I  ain't  nebber  tol'  but 


238         Mammy's  White  Folks 

one  lie  in  my  life  —  that  is  ter  say,  one  black 
lie.  'Cose,  I  done  tol'  lil  kinder  playful  fibs. 
That  black  lie  was  the  one  'bout  our  baby  an*  I 
ain't  regrettin'  it.  Now.  you  know  I  is  truth 
ful,  an'  what's  mo',  you  know  I  ain't  nebber 
been  'dieted  ter  sperits  'ceptin*  fer  a  lil  seasonin' 
now  an'  agin,  an'  if  you  air  gonter  set  still  an' 
see  me  branded  as  a  drunk  liar,  why  then  I'll 
jes'  ax  you  ter  let  me  be  carried  back  in  the 
cha'ity  ward  er  this  here  hawspital,  which  is 
comf 'table  enough  fer  niggers,  an'  thar  I'll 
stay  'til  I  kin  hobble  out.  I's  got  insuriance 
'nough  ter  bury  me  an'  sick  benefits  enough  ter 
keep  me  goin'  'til  I  kin  fin'  wuck." 

"  Oh,  Mammy,  Mammy,  you  are  cruel  to 
me!  The  idea  of  my  allowing  things  to  come 
to  such  a  pass.  I  never  said  you  lied.  Now, 
suppose  you  tell  me  all  about  it." 

He  sat  down,  and  Mammy  slowly  and  care 
fully  recalled  the  happenings  of  the  night  before 
her  sight  departed.  She  told  of  piling  up  the 
chairs  and  pushing  the  table  against  the  door. 
Then  she  recounted  the  pitiful  tale  of  her 
gropings  and  stumblings  in  the  dark  and  the 
final  catastrophe. 

"  Now  you  kin  see  what  made  the  room  look 
so  tumble  an'  mixed-up  lak.  As  fer  the  brandy 
bottle,  Gawd  in  Hebben  knows  how  it  got  thar, 


A  Satisfactory  Explanation     239 

an'  all  in  his  good  time  he'll  gib  us  knowledge 
an'  not  befo'.  Is  you  sho  you  b'lieve  me  now, 
Doc  Andy?" 

"  Yes,  Mammy,  I  am  sure.  You  must  for 
give  me.  Hereafter  I'll  come  straight  to  you 
when  people  say  such  things.  You  won't  move 
out  in  the  ward  now,  will  you,  Mammy? " 

"  No,  chil' !  But  you  see,  I  couldn't  be 
beholdin',  eben  ter  a  man  what  I  raised  from  a 
baby,  if 'n  he  ain't  got  no  'pinion  er  me." 


Jim  Dudley  got  back  from  Kentucky  about 
a  week  after  Mammy's  accident.  Things  had 
certainly  been  moving  in  his  absence.  He 
viewed  with  some  amusement  the  changes  in 
the  household.  Mrs.  Richards  and  her  daugh 
ter  were  installed  at  Dr.  Wallace's,  having 
moved  bag  and  baggage  from  their  small, 
uncomfortable  apartment  to  the  spacious  guest 
chamber  over  the  parlor.  The  house  seemed  to 
be  full  of  servants.  Two  maids  and  a  butler 
bustled  around,  or  stood  bickering  among  them 
selves  as  to  whose  business  it  was  to  answer 
bells.  Jim  remembered  with  regret  the  quiet 
ministrations  of  Mammy.  Above  all  he  missed 
the  never-failing  excellence  of  her  cooking. 

He  made  frequent  trips  to  the  hospital  to  see 
Mammy,  and  his  coming  did  the  old  woman 
more  good  than  all  the  medicine  on  earth.  To 
him,  and  to  him  alone,  did  she  entrust  the  read 
ing  of  Esther's  letters.  She  saved  them 
unopened  until  he  came,  and  then  he  would 
read  them  aloud.  Such  happy,  sweet  letters 

240 


An  Empty  Household          241 

they  were,  full  of  love  for  the  old  woman,  love 
of  home  and  father,  and  sometimes  even  a  hint 
of  love  for  Jim  himself.  She  was  deeply  dis 
tressed  over  Mammy's  accident,  and  wrote 
almost  every  day  when  she  was  not  kept  too 
busy  at  school. 

Jim  also  wrote  replies  to  Mammy's  letters 
as  long  as  the  poor  eyes  were  bandaged.  A 
long  epistle  must  be  sent  to  the  cousin,  Liza 
Ann,  in  Virginia,  telling  her  all  about  the 
troubles  that  had  befallen  her  kinswoman.  Her 
insurance  must  be  collected  from  the  various 
sick-benefit  concerns,  which,  up  to  this  time, 
had  reaped  a  weekly  harvest  from  Mammy's 
wages. 

"  I  been  a-payin  insuriance  an'  payin'  insur- 
iance  'til  it  wa'  jes'  lak  pourin'  water  down  a 
rat  hole  fer  all  the  good  I  got  out  er  it,  but 
now  I  is  reapin'  the  fruits  er  my  investigations," 
she  declared,  as  Jim  brought  in  a  roll  of  bills 
for  her  to  put  under  her  pillow  with  Esther's 
letters. 

"  Mr.  Peter  Roche  done  been  ter  see  me  agin 
an'  he  sayed  he  would  git  arfter  that  comp'ny 
what  wa'  disputatious  over  my  claim.  Mr. 
Peter  done  sayed  the  law  wa'  in  'zistence  fer 
jes'  sich  folks." 

The  bandage  was  taken  off,  and  Mammy's 


242          Mammy's  White  "Folks 

delight  knew  no  bounds  when  she  found  she 
could  really  see. 

"  Seein'  is  sho  the  maindest  thing  in  life. 
Now,  whin  this  ol'  hip  gits  spliced  tergether,  I's 
gonter  be  pretty  nigh  as  good  as  new.  I 
reckon  them  butlers  an'  housemaids  an'  what 
not  will  have  ter  fin'  theyse'fs  some  new  jobs." 

The  doctors  and  nurses  had  not  the  heart 
to  tell  her  that  perhaps  she  would  never  be  able 
to  do  much  work  again.  The  old  woman  lay 
there  counting  the  weeks  when  she  would  be 
well  enough  to  take  up  her  duties  at  Dr. 
Wallace's. 

In  the  meantime,  Esther  was  writing  delight 
ful  letters  to  everybody  at  home.  She  was 
having  a  wonderful  winter  but  was  evidently 
giving  more  time  to  her  art  than  to  her  other 
studies.  It  was  decided  that  she  was  not  to 
come  home  for  Christmas,  as  it  was  a  long 
journey,  but  instead  her  father  went  on  to  New 
York  to  see  her.  During  this  visit  Esther 
learned  that  Mrs.  Richards  and  Lucile  had 
taken  up  their  abode  in  her  father's  house.  It 
was  a  great  shock  to  her,  but  she  said  nothing 
to  Dr.  Wallace.  She  could  hardly  trust  her 
self  to  speak  of  the  arrangement  at  all. 

"  Lucile  is  at  work.  Peter  got  her  a  job 
with  a  lawyer  friend,"  Dr.  Wallace  continued, 


An  Empty  Household          243 

after  he  had  broken  the  news  to  Esther  of  the 
new  housekeeper.  "  She  is  a  nice  girl  and  so 
industrious.  I  am  glad  to  be  able  to  help  Mrs. 
Richards  and  her  daughter  a  little  by  freeing 
them  from  the  financial  worries  that  have 
harassed  them  for  so  many  years.  Mrs. 
Richards  has  made  a  brave  struggle  —  " 

"Still  is!"  exclaimed  Esther. 

"  Yes,  still  is.  I  cannot  tell  you  what  a  solu 
tion  it  is  for  me  to  have  her  in  the  house  now 
that  poor  Mammy  is  ill.  I  don't  see  what  I 
would  have  done." 

"  I  might  have  come  home." 

"Oh,  no!  I  would  not  have  had  you  do 
that."  The  doctor  smiled  at  the  thought  of  the 
housekeeping  Esther  would  do. 

"  Let  me  come  now,  Daddy,  please  do !  I 
can't  bear  to  think  of  you  being  surrounded  by 
so  many  strangers." 

"  But  Mrs.  Richards  is  not  a  stranger.  She 
has  been  my  office  attendant  for  over  two 
years." 

Esther  said  nothing  more.  It  was  plain  to 
see  that  her  father  was  altogether  satisfied  with 
the  existing  arrangements,  and  objections  voiced 
by  her  would  have  little  weight. 

"  What  does  Mammy  think?  " 

"  She  hasn't  said.     Of  course,  the  dear  old 


244         Mammy's  White  Folks 

woman  expects  to  come  back  and  do  all  the 
work  as  formerly,  but  she  will  never  be  able 
to  do  it  —  never  again.  I  am  afraid  she  will 
never  get  along  with  the  other  servants.  She 
has  been  the  head  of  the  house  for  so  many 
years  it  will  be  hard  for  her  to  have  someone 
else  looking  after  things.  I  think  I  shall  pro 
pose  a  trip  to  Virginia  to  her  when  she  is  able 
to  hobble  around.  She  could  make  a  long 
visit  to  her  cousin,  Eliza  Ann.  Then,  when  she 
is  well,  or  better  (she  will  never  be  really  well 
again),  she  can  come  back  home.  Poor,  dear, 
old  Mammy! " 

Esther  wept  many  tears  over  Mammy  and 
over  the  changed  conditions  at  home.  What 
would  home  be  like,  she  asked  herself,  with 
Mammy  off  in  Virginia  and  a  woman  whom 
she  cordially  detested  keeping  house?  Esther 
no  longer  wanted  to  go  home.  The  thought  of 
being  under  the  same  roof  as  Mrs.  Richards 
day  in  and  day  out  was  extremely  distasteful 
to  her.  How  could  her  father  and  Jim  like 
her?  No  doubt  Jim  thought  Lucile  was  a 
thousand  times  nicer  than  she.  Perhaps  Lucile 
was  nicer,  too  —  and  much  more  worthy.  Well, 
she  had  her  art,  and  she  thought  of  it  with  a 
very,  very  big  A  —  this  Art  that  was  to  be 
her  solace  for  the  loss  of  the  happy  home  which 


An  Empty  Household          245 

she  was  sure  she  would  never  see  again.  She 
kept  her  trouble  to  herself,  not  even  confiding 
her  miseries  to  her  dear  Marian,  Perhaps  it 
would  have  been  better  if  she  had.  Marian, 
who  was  a  year  older  than  her  chum,  was  a 
sensible,  level-headed  sort  of  girl,  without  too 
great  an  endowment  of  imagination.  No  doubt 
she  would  have  viewed  the  situation  in  a  more 
practical  way,  and  would  have  convinced  Esther 
that  she  was  making  a  mountain  out  of  a  mole 
hill  and  life  was  not  so  sad  after  all. 

Jim's  letters  were  a  great  comfort  to  the 
girl  in  her  loneliness.  He  sent  her  all  the  news 
of  the  neighborhood,  and  always  had  something 
bright  and  happy  to  tell  about  dear  Mammy. 
He  seldom  mentioned  the  new  housekeeper  or 
her  daughter,  and  when  he  did,  it  was  quite 
casually. 

As  for  Jim  himself,  he  had  some  difficulty 
in  keeping  his  letters  on  just  the  right  plane. 
He  wanted  to  interest  her  in  himself.  Yet  he 
did  not  wish  to  make  the  mistake  of  being  too 
lover-like.  To  him,  Esther  was  still  a  girl,  more 
mature  perhaps  than  his  little  princess  of  the 
mulberry  patch,  but  still  too  young  to  be  spoken 
to  of  love. 

"  Another  year  or  so,"  he  would  say  to  him 
self,  "and  then  —  " 


246         Mammy's  White  Folks 

A  solution  came  to  Esther  when  Miss  Hunter 
proposed  that  she  and  Marian  Carley  join  a 
party  of  several  other  girls  who  were  about  to 
take  a  trip  to  Europe  under  Miss  Hunter's 
direction.  The  trip  was  to  last  six  months, 
maybe  longer.  Dr.  Wallace  agreed  to  it, 
although  he  had  been  looking  forward  to  having 
his  child  home  for  the  summer  vacation.  It 
was  an  opportunity  not  to  be  missed.  She 
would  see  the  most  famous  art  galleries  in  the 
world,  and  could  take  lessons  in  Paris,  where 
they  were  planning  to  stay  for  three  months. 

Mammy  highly  approved  of  this  arrange 
ment.  She  herself  was  to  be  in  Virginia,  and 
the  old  woman  knew  well  that  there  would  be 
nothing  but  unhappiness  for  her  baby  in  the 
house  with  Mrs.  Richards.  To  Peter  she  con 
fided  her  suspicions  concerning  the  woman. 
Hobbling  into  his  office  one  day,  to  Peter's 
great  surprise,  Mammy  had  said: 

"  That  there  woman  thinks  she  gonter  ketch 
Doc  Andy,  but  she  is  mistook.  Nobody  ain't 
gonter  ketch  him.  She  gonter  plan  an'  plan, 
but  the  time  air  gonter  come  whin  Doc  Andy'll 
see  her  as  she  am.  She  tryin'  ter  buck  up 
against  a  mascot,  an'  th'ain't  no  use.  I  done 
seed  her  face  now,  an'  I  knows  fer  sho  she's 
Mrs.  Stanley.  She  done  tried  fer  me  not  ter 


An  Empty  Household          247 

see  her.  She  ain't  nebber  been  ter  the  hawspital 
ter  see  me  since  my  ban'age  wa'  tuck  off,  an' 
whin  I  wint  home  ter  git  my  things  ready  fer 
my  trip,  she  wint  away  an'  stayed  away.  But 
as  luck  would  hab  it,  I  met  her  on  the  street. 
My  eyes  is  open  now.  I  done  had  a  creepy 
feelin'  'bout  her  voice  all  the  time,  but  yo'  ears 
ain't  ter  say  so  trus'wu'thy  as  yo'  eyes.  You 
know  what  I  think,  Mr.  Peter? " 

"  What  is  it  Mammy? "  Peter  was  much 
perturbed  about  his  old  friend.  Perhaps  it 
would  be  well  for  him  to  marry,  but  was  Mrs. 
Richards  the  right  woman?  True,  she  was 
handsome  and  clever  and  tactful,  but  in  spite 
of  all  these  tilings,  Peter  was  obliged  to  confess 
that  he  never  had  quite  liked  her.  And  why 
this  change  of  name? 

"  I  tell  you  what  I  think,"  Mammy  continued. 
"  I  think  ev'ything  about  that  woman  is  a  lie, 
'cep'in'  her  face,  an*  that  tells  the  truf.  I 
know  her  face  am  putty  an'  all  that,  but  that 
there  face  tells  jes'  what  kinder  pusson  she  am. 
It  tells  she  am  a  liar.  If  I  had  a  had  my  eye 
sight  whin  she  corned  in  the  fust  beginning  I 
could  a  tol'  Doc  Andy  not  ter  trus'  her,  but  it's 
too  late  now.  He  done  got  kinder  dependent  on 
her,  an'  if  we  go  ter  him  a-bearin  tales,  he 
mought  up  an'  marry  her  or  sompen.  No,  Mr. 


248         Mammy's  White  Folks 

Peter,  we's  gotter  play  our  cyards  lak  Marse 
Bob  Wallace  useter  say :  '  Play  'em  close  ter 
yo'  belly.'  Now,  if  I  go  ter  Virginy,  Mr.  Peter, 
you  mus'  kinder  keep  yo'  eye  open  fer  po*  Doc 
Andy.  He  ain't  mo'n  a  chil'  in  some  ways,  an' 
you  an'  me  is  gotter  look  out  fer  him.  Don't 
you  know  she  wants  ter  git  me  out  er  the  way? 
Didn't  she  put  that  there  brandy  bottle  out  an' 
make  out  ter  Doc  Andy  that  she  foun'  it  thar 
an'  that  I  had  been  drinkin'?  She's  scairt  er 
me,  an'  she  got  good  reason  ter  be,  but  she 
ain't  scairt  er  you  an'  I'm  a  gonter  leave  matters 
in  yo'  ban's." 

"  How  does  Dr.  Dudley  feel  about  her?  " 
"  Lawsamussy,  Mr.  Peter,  Dr.  Jim  am  par- 
tiam  ter  all  lady  folks.  He  ain't  got  no 
'scrimination  whar  they  is.  That's  the  onlies' 
'jection  I  see  ter  Dr.  Jim.  But,  then,  they 
sho  do  spile  him.  I  reckon  it's  nachel.  He 
movin'  out,  he  tells  me.  Done  rented  a  flat  er 
his  own."  The  old  woman  chuckled.  '''  He 
say  he  misses  my  victuals  an  he  gone  got  imber- 
gestium  from  some  er  the  new-fangled  messes 
that  there  Maud  an'  Mrs.  Richards  done  made 
up.  He  say  that  I  mus'n'  tell  on  Mm,  an'  'cose 
I  ain't,  but  that  their  idea  of  style  is  ter  take 
the  insides  out  er  one  thing  an'  put  it  in  the 
peelin'  of  anudder.  They  mus'  stuff  the 


An  Empty  Household          249 

mattersies  wif  cowcumbers,  an'  the  cowcumbers 
wif  mattersies,  an'  whin  they  cyarn't  think  of 
no  other  way  ter  disguise  the  tase  what  Gawd 
gib  ter  a  veg'table,  they  sprinkles  nuts  over  it. 
Me  an'  Dr.  Jim  is  useter  ol'-fashioned  cookin' 
what  stan's  on  its  own  bottom." 

When  Mammy  left  Peter  Roche's  office,  she 
felt  easier  in  mind  than  she  had  been  for  many 
weeks. 


Chapter  23 
DISGUISING  A  HOME 

Esther  was  on  her  way  home!  Two  winters 
and  a  summer  had  passed  since  she  left  for 
school,  and  now  she  was  coming  back.  Dr. 
Wallace  was  happy  at  the  prospect  of  having 
his  girl  with  him  again.  He  had  missed  her 
sorely  at  first,  but  gradually  the  sense  of  loss 
grew  to  be  less  acute.  Mrs.  Richards  and 
Lucile  had  seen  to  it  that  he  was  not  lonesome. 
Indeed,  he  was  such  a  busy  man  that  he  had 
very  little  time  in  which  to  be  lonesome. 

Matters  had  not  gone  quite  so  well  for  Mrs. 
Richards  as  she  had  hoped.  Long  before  this 
she  had  planned  to  have  brought  the  timid 
doctor  to  declare  himself.  By  this  time  she 
expected  to  be  mistress  of  his  home  in  name  as 
well  as  in  fact.  Several  times  she  had  fancied 
he  was  on  the  point  of  some  kind  of  declaration, 
but  each  time  something  had  occurred  to  stop 
him.  Usually  it  was  Peter  Roche,  who  had  a 
way  of  calling  much  too  often  to  suit  the  widow. 
It  almost  looked  as  though  the  lawyer  divined 
the  fact  that  his  friend  was  in  danger. 

250 


Disguising  a  Home  251 

Mammy,  too,  continued  a  thorn  in  the  side. 
She  had  made  her  visit  to  Virginia,  but  had  not 
stayed  many  months.  Just  when  Mrs.  Richards 
began  to  breathe  freely,  congratulating  herself 
on  the  removal  of  one  stumbling  block  from 
her  path,  back  came  the  old  woman. 

"  I  knows  I  ain't  much  'count,"  she  said  to 
Dr.  Wallace,  "  an'  I  ain't  able  ter  do  all  yo', 
wuck,  but  I's  still  fitten  ter  do  sompen.  You 
done  said  you'll  gib  me  a  penshum,  an'  I  been 
a-thinkin  I'd  rent  me  a  lil  house  over  in  the 
ward,  near  the  aidge  er  town,  not  fur  from  the 
cyars,  an*  I'll  take  in  a  lil  washin',  sech  as  yo' 
shuts  an'  Dr.  Jim's  —  jes'  enough  ter  keep  me 
from  gittin'  too  lazy  —  an'  I  mought  keep  a 
few  bins  ter  holp  out  wif.  I  'low  I'll  plant  me 
some  laylock  an'  vi'lets  an'  some  portumlacca, 
cause  th'  ain't  nothin  lak  portumlacca  ter  put 
heart  in  a  pusson.  All  I  asks  is  whin  you  gib 
me  my  penshum,  gib  it  ter  me  in  cash  money. 
I  ain't  no  han'  ter  go  to  no  bank." 

And  so  Mammy  took  a  little  house  on  the 
edge  of  town  and  there  established  herself.  Dr. 
Wallace  was  glad  the  old  woman  retired  so 
gracefully  from  her  labors.  He  had  feared 
she  would  insist  upon  coming  back  as  cook  and 
housekeeper.  In  that  case,  he  would  have 
dreaded  the  outcome,  knowing  as  he  did  that 


252          Mammy's  White  Folks 

she  would  never  put  up  with  the  other  servants. 
As  it  was,  she  had  a  way  of  pouncing  down  on 
them  when  she  made  her  semi-weekly  visits  for 
the  doctor's  shirts,  speaking  her  mind  quite 
freely  about  the  way  they  did  or  did  not  do 
their  work. 

She  usually  came  in  the  evening,  and  always 
insisted  upon  seeing  the  doctor.  Many  times 
her  visits  had  interrupted  a  tete-a-tete  between 
Mrs.  Richards  and  the  master,  much  to  that 
lady's  chagrin.  Everything  seemed  to  work 
against  her  in  bringing  the  doctor  to  a  declara 
tion.  If  it  wasn't  Peter  Roche,  it  was  Mammy, 
and  sometimes  even  Lucile  was  dense  or  hateful 
(her  mother  could  not  decide  which)  and 
refused  to  go  to  her  room  after  supper,  in  spite 
of  the  meaningful  glances  cast  at  her. 

And  now  Esther  was  coming  home!  She  was 
to  be  back  for  her  twentieth  birthday.  Peter 
was  planning  to  fill  the  whole  house  with  tea 
roses,  and  Mammy  was  preparing  to  bake  a 
huge  cake,  made  of  eggs  laid  by  her  own  hens. 
Everybody  was  happy  except  Mrs.  Richards 
and  her  daughter,  but  they  deemed  it  policy  to 
simulate  a  gaiety  they  did  not  feel. 

"  You  are  not  as  clever  as  you  thought," 
said  Lucile.  She  was  alone  with  her  mother 
after  they  had  retired  to  their  adjoining  rooms. 


Disguising  a  Home  253 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  if  you  are  ever  to  catch 
Dr.  Wallace,  you  should  do  it  before  the  girl 
comes  home." 

"  Well,  if  you  had  not  stuck  to  me  like  a 
burr,  I  might  have  brought  him  to  the  mark 
this  very  evening." 

"Pooh!  Nonsense!  I  can't  run  off  to  my 
room  every  evening  after  supper.  I  believe 
Dr.  Wallace  likes  me  just  as  much  as  he  does 
you,  anyhow." 

'  That  is  not  the  question !  You  are  not 
very  clever  yourself,  or  you  would  have  caught 
Dr.  Dudley  before  this  wretched  girl  gets 
back." 

Lucile  flushed  painfully,  and  her  mother 
continued. 

"  Oh,  ho!  So  that  is  what  is  the  matter!  I 
wish  you  joy,  my  daughter,  but  I  can  tell  you 
it  is  a  great  mistake.  I  fell  in  love  with  your 
father  —  just  such  another  lady  killer  as  Jim 
Dudley.  The  way  to  hold  that  kind  of  man  is 
to  let  him  do  the  loving.  Of  course,  I  am  not 
saying  that  Jim  Dudley  is  an  unscrupulous 
man  like  your  father,  but  he  is  like  him  in  that 
all  women  adore  him.  Better  nip  any  feeling 
in  the  bud  that  you  may  have  for  him,  but  catch 
him  if  you  can." 

Dr.  Dudley  had  been  very  kind  and  friendly 


254         Mammy's  White  Folks 

to  both  mother  and  daughter.  He  felt  sorry 
for  them  and  liked  them.  They  showed  him 
only  their  best  and  most  charming  sides.  He 
had  been  quite  attentive  to  Lucile.  Often  he 
took  her  to  the  theatre  or  brought  young  men 
to  call  on  her,  and  did  many  little  things  to 
make  life  pleasant  for  the  givl.  But  only  so 
far  and  no  farther  did  he  go  in  his  friendship. 
Lucile  did  everything  in  her  power  to  be 
attractive  to  him,  but  his  attentions  always 
stopped  short  of  any  love-making. 

"  Sometimes  I  think  he  is  engaged,"  she  said 
to  her  mother. 

"  Nonsense !  He  is  no  more  engaged  than 
Dr.  Wallace.  They  are  just  game  fish  and  hard 
to  hook.  If  one  kind  of  fly  does  not  attract 
them,  we  shall  have  to  try  another.  If  all  hooks 
fail,  there  are  still  nets  to  be  tried." 

"  Mother,  what  do  you  mean?  " 

"  I  simply  mean  that  I  do  not  intend  to  let 
my  fish  escape.  You  can  do  as  you  like  about 
yours.  When  I  get  mine  safely  landed  I  may 
be  able  to  help  you  with  yours.  In  the  mean 
time,  remember  that  '  All  is  fair  in  love  and 


war'.' 


"  Do  you  think  Jim  could  be  engaged  to  this 
Esther?" 

"  Of  course  not !    She  was  nothing  more  than 


Disguising  a  Home  255 

a  child  when  she  went  away  —  is  one  still,  I 
fancy.  Jim  Dudley  is  simply  the  kind  of  man 
who  likes  all  women  but  no  one  woman." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  when  Esther 
comes  home? " 

"  Put  her  in  the  wrong  all  I  can !  I  am  going 
to  be  so  kind  arid  good  to  her  that  she  will 
hate  me  more  than  ever.  I  only  hope  that 
foolish  old  darkey  will  not  tell  her  that  she 
recognized  my  voice  and  knows  I  am  Mrs. 
Stanley.  I  am  careful  to  keep  away  from  her, 
so  she  does  not  get  a  good  look  at  me.  I  have 
given  orders  that  she  shall  never  be  admitted 
without  being  announced,  and  then  I  get  out 
of  the  way.  Dr.  Wallace  thinks  I  go  because 
of  the  old  woman's  insolence.  I  have  let  him 
understand  that  that  is  the  reason." 

"  I  wish  you  had  not  changed  our  name.  I 
can't  see  why  you  did  it,"  complained  Lucile. 

'  Well,  I  would  have  been  a  fool  to  settle  in 
this  town  as  Stanley's  wife  after  the  unsavory 
reputation  he  had  left  here.  I  got  along  much 
better  as  the  widow  Richards.  Honesty  is  the 
best  policy  only  so  long  as  it  works." 

"  But  is  dishonesty  working? "  sneered 
Lucile. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know!  We  have  a  roof  over 
.our  heads  and  a  comfortable  home,  plenty  of 


256         Mammy's  White  Folks 

good  food,  better  clothes  than  we  ever  have 
been  able  to  afford  before,  and  besides,  strong 
prospects  of  being  able  to  establish  ourselves  — 
at  least  I  see  strong  prospects  of  being  able  to 
establish  myself.  You  can  judge  for  yourself 
what  your  prospects  are." 

Mrs.  Richards  had  one  plan  for  Esther's  dis 
comfort  which  she  worked  to  a  nicety.  She 
was  determined  to  make  the  place  as  strange 
to  the  girl  as  she  could,  and  so  when  the  news 
came  that  Esther  was  coming  home,  she  imme 
diately  suggested  to  Dr.  Wallace  that  it  would 
be  a  gentle  attention  to  the  returning  traveler 
if  he  should  have  the  house  redecorated.  Dr. 
Wallace,  pleased  at  her  thought,  gave  her  carte 
blanche  in  the  matter. 

The  old  house  was  turned  inside-out.  Paper- 
hangers  and  painters  were  kept  busy  for  weeks. 
With  a  kind  of  diabolical  ingenuity  Mrs. 
Richards  managed  to  alter  the  place  so  that 
it  presented  an  entirely  different  aspect.  Even 
the  green  shutters  were  painted  a  dun  color, 
and  the  great  lilac  bushes  trimmed  back  until 
they  resembled  miniature  poplar  trees.  The 
interior  was  decorated  according  to  the  latest 
dictates  of  fashion,  and  was  in  a  very  high 
key  —  something  she  had  once  heard  Esther 
say  she  abhorred.  The  pleasant  old  rooms,  with 


Disguising  a  Home  257 

their  quiet  tan  walls  and  dark  oak  wainscoting, 
were  made  gorgeous  with  light,  satin-striped 
paper  and  gleaming,  white  paint.  The  heavy 
chandeliers,  with  their  intricate  patterns  of  fern 
leaves  and  lilies  that  had  served  as  models  for 
Esther's  early  attempts  at  picture  cutting,  were 
regilded  until  they  shone  like  new.  Pictures 
were  re-hung,  their  positions  changed.  Some 
of  them  Mrs.  Richards  did  not  like.  These 
were  discarded  altogether  and  stacked  up  in 
the  attic.  Furniture  was  placed  differently. 
Even  the  sideboard  in  the  dining-room  was 
moved.  Poor  Mammy  could  hardly  have  found 
her  way  around  the  house  now,  even  with  the 
best  of  eyesight. 

Dr.  Wallace  was  not  at  all  happy  in  the 
transformation  of  his  pleasant  but  rather  shabby 
old  home.  But  his  housekeeper  was  so  sure  that 
it  would  please  Esther  that  he  submitted  with  a 
good  grace  to  the  discomforts  of  the  few  weeks 
that  it  took  to  work  the  wonders.  Mrs. 
Richards  kept  right  behind  the  decorators,  and 
forced  them  to  hurry  with  the  work.  In  con 
sequence,  everything  was  finished  on  time,  and 
the  house  was  placed  in  apple-pie  order  for  the 
return  of  the  young  traveler.  Mrs.  Richards 
prided  herself  on  her  efficiency,  and  well  she 
might. 


258         Mammy's  White  Folks 

"  I  have  prepared  another  room  for  your 
daughter,"  she  casually  remarked  to  Dr.  Wal 
lace.  "  The  one  she  used  to  occupy  was  small 
and  not  nearly  so  attractive  as  the  front  room, 
the  one  I  Jiave  had.  I  think  it  is  proper  that, 
as  the  daughter  of  the  house  and  a  grown 
young  lady,  she  should  have  the  best  room  in 
the  house." 

"  Oh,  but  Mrs.  Richards !  I  would  net  have 
you  give  up  your  room!  And  do  you  think 
I^sther  would  like  to  change  her  room?  She 
has  always  had  the  other  one.  It  was  near 
Mammy  —  " 

"  Ah,  but  Mammy  is  no  longer  here,  and 
perhaps  being  near  Maud  would  not  be  so 
pleasant.  Of  course,  I  am  sorry  if  I  have  been 
officious  —  " 

"  Not  at  all,  my  dear  madam !  "  If  there  was 
anything  the  doctor  dreaded,  it  was  hurt  feel 
ings,  and  the  thing  he  had  always  liked  best 
about  Mrs.  Richards  was  that  she  was  not 
constantly  being  overcome  with  feelings.  "  But 
I  hate  to  have  you  put  up  in  a  smaller  room." 

"  Oh,  you  must  not  think  of  me !  Only  think 
what  small  quarters  I  have  been  accustomed  to 
since  my  poor  dear  husband  —  " 

'  Yes,  yes,  but  now  you  must  be  comfortable. 
Why  do  you  not  take  the  room  Dudley  had?  " 


Disguising  a  Home  259 

"  Well,  if  you  insist;  then  I  can  put  Lucile 
in  the  small  room  near  the  servant's  room.  She 
would  be  quite  happy  there,  I  am  sure.  I  hope, 
Dr.  Wallace,  you  will  not  tell  Miss  Esther  of 
the  improvements  we  have  made  in  the  house 
when  you  go  to  New  York  to  meet  her.  Let 
it  be  as  a  surprise  to  her." 

The  doctor  meekly  promised  to  do  as  he  was 
bid. 


Chapter  24 
HER  JOYFUL  ARRIVAL 

As  Esther  tripped  down  the  gangway,  Dr. 
Wallace,  standing  on  the  pier,  was  overcome  by 
a  feeling  of  uncertainty  and  mystery.  It  was 
the  same  feeling  that  had  come  to  him  on  that 
memorable  night  almost  twenty  years  before, 
when  Mammy  unwrapped  the  old  serge  jacket 
and  the  folds  of  blanket  that  enveloped  the 
little  foundling.  On  that  night,  he  now  recalled, 
his  feeling  had  been  one  of  wonder;  and  now, 
as  he  beheld  the  beautiful  young  woman  who 
called  him  father  with  so  much  love  and  sweet 
ness  in  her  voice,  he  found  himself  again  won 
dering.  After  all,  into  what  manner  of  woman 
had  the  little  waif  grown? 

Truly,  she  might  have  sprung  from  the  heart 
of  a  tea  rose,  as  he  had  fancifully  told  her, 
when,  as  a  child,  she  had  questioned  him  as  to 
the  mystery  of  birth.  Her  daintiness  and  love 
liness  had  increased  with  the  years,  and  a 
gracious  poise  had  joined  with  her  maidenly 
dignity,  giving  added  grace  to  her  bearing. 
The  bud  had  opened,  and  the  rose  was  in  bloom. 

260 


Her  Joyful  Arrival  261 

There  was  no  denying  that  his  little  girl  had 
grown  into  a  woman.  A  kind  of  shyness  seized 
the  doctor  as  the  beautiful  young  woman  in  her 
stylish,  brown  traveling-suit  and  becoming  furs 
came  tripping  down  the  gangway.  Her  willful, 
sun-kissed  hair,  which  refused  to  stay  tucked 
under  the  close,  brown-velvet  toque,  had  found 
its  way  out,  and  burst  into  a  million  little  curls 
and  ripples,  making  a  soft  glory  around  the 
eager  young  face. 

"  Daddy,  oh,  Daddy !  I'm  so  glad  to  see 
you!  I  wondered  if  you  would  come  to  meet 
me  —  I  might  have  known  you  would  —  you 
always  do  the  lovely  thing  —  now,  tell  me,  how 
is  Mammy? "  punctuated  with  hugs  and  kisses. 
"  And  Peter  —  and  Jim  —  and  Mike  —  and 
everybody?  " 

Esther  had  intended  to  inquire  politely  con 
cerning  the  welfare  of  Mrs.  Richards  and  her 
daughter,  but  when  she  got  to  them,  in  her  fire 
of  questions,  she  had  trailed  off  faintly  into 
"  and  everybody." 

"  Fine !  Fine !  Dudley  wanted  to  come  meet 
you,  too,  but  both  of  us  couldn't  leave.  I  think 
he  hoped  until  the  last  that  I  would  make  way 
for  him  but  —  I  didn't.  You  would  rather 
have  had  me,  wouldn't  you  ?  "  He  smiled  the 
question  at  the  vivacious  girl. 


262         Mammy's  White  Folks 

"  Why,  Daddy,  what  a  question! "  The  Tea 
Rose  turned  into  an  American  Beauty.  Dr. 
Wallace  smiled  quizzically. 

"  I  told  him  you  would  rather  see  me.  As 
for  Mammy,  she  is  growing  better  every  day, 
and  declares,  when  you  come  home,  she  will  be 
well  again.  Peter  is  the  same  old  Peter.  Mike 
is  the  best  chauffeur  in  town,  I  am  sure,  and 
is  getting  the  cars  in  wonderful  trim  for  your 
return.  Mrs.  Richards  and  her  daughter, 
Lucile,  are  well  and  quite  —  er  —  er  interested 
in  your  homecoming."  He  had  almost  given 
away  the  secret  of  the  old  house  and  the  new 
decorations,  but  stopped  in  time.  "  I  hope  you 
will  find  Lucile  congenial,  and  make  a  friend 
and  companion  of  her." 

"  Oh,  yes,  that  would  be  charming,  I  am 
sure! "  faintly. 

Esther  had  determined  to  be  everything  that 
was  lovely  to  her  father's  housekeeper  and  her 
worthy  daughter.  She  had  finally  talked  the 
matter  over  with  Marian,  and  the  two  girls  had 
discussed  her  unreasonable  dislike  of  the  inof 
fensive  Mrs.  Richards  from  all  angles.  Esther 
had  blamed  herself  entirely  and  had  resolved 
to  turn  over  a  new  leaf.  The  more  practical 
and  less  imaginative  Marian  was  an  excellent 
balance-wheel  for  Esther. 


Her  Joyful  Arrival  263 

"  What  did  you  hate  about  her? "  she  had 
asked. 

"  I  hated  the  way  her  nose  pinched  in  at 
times  and  the  way  she  stuck  her  needle  in  the 
baby  caps." 

Now,  this  was  no  reason  for  hatred  in 
Marian's  philosophy,  since  poor  Mrs.  Richards 
had  not  made  her  own  nose,  and  surely  a 
method  of  sewing  was  not  sufficient  grounds 
for  undying  dislike. 

"  Is  she  after  your  father? " 

"After  him  — how?" 

"Oh,  come,  now,  Esther!  After  —  that  is, 
catching  him ! "  and  when  Esther  still  looked 
mystified,  "marrying  him,  goose!" 

"  Oh,  Marian !  How  horrid !  I  never  even 
thought  of  such  a  thing.  I  am  sure,  while  I 
don't  really  like  Mrs.  Richards,  that  she  would 
be  above  anything  so  —  so  —  out  of  taste  and  — 
and  repulsive." 

"But  marrying  your  father  would  not  be 
repulsive  or  out  of  taste,  either.  Widowers 
have  married  before  this." 

"Oh,  but  my  father  is  different!  Why, 
Marian,  do  you  know  he  adored  my  mother  so 
that  he  has  never  yet  been  able  to  speak  of  her? 
His  SOITOW  must  be  just  as  fresh  as  it  ever  was, 
because  he  couldn't  even  make  up  his  mind  to 


264         Mammy's  White  Folks 

take  me  to  her  grave.  She  is  buried  somewhere 
in  New  York,  or  near  New  York,  and  when  I 
came  here  to  school,  I  longed  to  go  to  it,  but 
when  I  got  up  spunk  enough  and  asked  him  to 
tell  me  where  it  was,  he  could  not  speak.  I 
never  saw  a  face  so  full  of  sorrow  and  misery 
as  his  when  he  looked  me  in  the  eyes  and  then 
turned  away.  He  simply  couldn't  trust  him 
self  to  utter  a  word." 

"  He  might  have  written,"  was  Marion's 
practical  suggestion. 

"So  he  might,  but  I  did  not  like  to  open 
up  the  subject  when  I  found  it  hurt  him  so. 
After  all,  a  grave  is  nothing,  and  I  know 
where  her  lovely  spirit  is." 

And  so  it  was  with  a  chastened  heart  that 
Esther  was  going  back  to  the  home  where 
Mrs.  Richards  reigned  supreme.  Sometimes 
Marion's  question,  "  Is  she  after  your  father? " 
would  flash  through  her  mind,  but  she  would 
none  of  it.  It  was  absurd.  Mrs.  Richards 
was  a  very  kind,  nice  person  who  had  managed 
to  make  her  father  comfortable  and  lighten  his 
labors.  If  she  had  not  taken  up  the  house 
keeping  when  Mammy  got  sick,  who  could 
have  done  it?  Surely,  thought  Esther,  only 
a  very  unkind  daughter  would  want  her  poor 
father  to  live  in  discomfort,  with  his  accounts 


Her  Joyful  Arrival  265 

all  mixed  up  and  no  one  to  answer  the  tele 
phone,  just  because  his  own  dear  daughter  did 
not  like  a  certain  lady's  nose.  She  deserved  to 
have  her  own  nose  well  pinched! 

The  Carleys  also  had  arranged  to  meet  their 
daughter  in  New  York,  and  decided  to  remain 
there  a  few  days.  Esther  and  her  father  were 
pleased  at  the  turn  events  had  taken,  as  they 
both  had  a  thousand  interesting  things  to  relate 
to  one  another. 

As  the  train  sped  along  with  the  travelers, 
taking  them  as  fast  as  steam  and  a  smooth  road 
bed  could  manage  back  to  their  southern  tity, 
it  seemed  to  Esther  that  her  European  trip 
had  been  but  a  dream.  The  churches  and  pal 
aces,  pictures  and  statues,  were  no  longer  real, 
no  longer  so  very  important.  The  persons  she 
had  met  on  the  steamer  and  in  the  various  cities 
where  they  had  stopped  long  enough  to  make 
friends,  seemed  like  characters  in  a  book.  The 
study  of  art,  into  which  she  had  plunged  with 
such  vim  during  their  stay  in  Paris,  was  for 
the  moment  forgotten.  She  could  think  of  noth 
ing  but  home  —  home  and  father!  —  home  and 
Mammy!  —  home  and  Peter!  —  home  and  Jim! 
—  dear  Jim,  whom  she  put  last,  as  though  in 
duty  bound,  but  who  so  often  came  into  her 
thoughts  first  of  all! 


266         Mammy's  White  Folks 

She  could  shut  her  eyes  and  see  the  old 
house  standing  high  up  from  the  street,  with 
its  grassy  terrace  that  she  had  rolled  down  so 
often  when  a  child.  The  lilacs  must  be  send 
ing  forth  many  leaves  by  now,  and  the  violets 
would  be  in  bloom.  No  doubt  the  wisteria  was 
beginning  to  show  specks  of  lavender  in  its 
gracefully  hanging  buds.  The  green  shutters 
would  be  stretched  wide  to  let  the  spring  sun 
shine  find  its  way  into  every  corner  of  the  com 
fortable,  homey  old  library  and  parlor. 

She  thought  of  the  housekeeping  games  she 
and  Marian  had  played  under  the  great  old 
lilac  bushes.  There  never  were  such  huge, 
friendly  lilac  bushes  as  theirs.  The  thick 
branches  bent  over  and  touched  the  ground, 
and  the  floor  of  their  play-house  on  the  turf 
was  always  dry  except  after  drenching  rains. 
She  decided  she  would  get  Daddy  to  have 
some  benches  put  under  those  same  bushes. 
She  was  too  old  to  play  at  housekeeping  now, 
but  it  would  be  such  a  nice  place  to  sit  and 
sew  and  read  and  dream  —  especially  dream. 
The  thought  came  to  her  it  would  also  be  a 
nice  place  to  go  to  get  away  from  the  house 
keeper  and  her  daughter,  but  she  pinched  her 
nose  viciously  to  get  such  a  thought  out  of 
her  head. 


Her  Joyful  Arrival  267 

Then  the  picture  of  the  library  would  flash 
across  her  mind's  eye  —  a  pleasant  low-toned 
room  with  its  'dim  old  portraits  and  crowded 
book-shelves. 

"And,  oh,  my  own  room!  What  a  joy  to 
get  out  of  hotels  and  go  back  to  one's  own 
room!  I'd  rather  look  out  of  my  little  win 
dow  and  see  the  magnolia  tree  with  its  waxy 
blossoms  peeping  out  from  the  shiny,  dark- 
green  leaves  than  to  behold  the  whole  of  Paris 
from  the  Eiffel  Tower." 

So  Esther  mused  as  the  train  carried  her 
closer  and  closer  to  that  home  she  loved  so 
n inch.  Sometimes  her  thoughts  would  dwell 
on  Mrs.  Richards,  but  she  put  that  lady  out 
of  her  mind  as  much  as  possible.  The  con 
versation  she  had  had  with  Marian  kept  coming 
back  to  her,  but  she  chose  to  be  amused  at  such 
a  suggestion.  Marry  her  father,  indeed! 
Absurd! 

Home  at  last!  Peter  and  Jim  were  stand 
ing  on  the  platform  to  greet  them,  and  Mike 
was  in  readiness  to  load  the  baggage  into  the 
new,  spick-and-span  car.  Peter  must  be  kissed 
for  old  time's  sake,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that 
he  wouldn't  bend  over  a  bit  and  his  face  got 
so  red  that  it  did  not  cool  down  for  hours. 
Jim  Dudley  had  been  all  joy  and  excitement 


268         Mammy's  White  Folks 

over  the  prospect  of  having  his  dear  little  friend 
home  again.  But  he  was  not  at  all  prepared 
for  this  beautiful  young  woman,  who  was  not 
little  at  all  and  was  nobody's  sweetheart  for 
the  asking.  For  once  the  young  man  was 
overcome  in  the  presence  of  a  member  of  the 
fair  sex.  He  hung  back,  abashed  like  any 
country  bumpkin.  He  never  expected  to  find 
himself  envying  Peter  Roche.  He  might 
admire  and  respect  the  middle-aged  bachelor, 
but  never  envy  him.  Now  he  felt  he  would 
give  anything  just  to  be  Peter  —  to  have  this 
adorable  vision  in  brown,  with  the  rose-petal 
face  and  the  glory  of  hair,  put  her  arms  around 
him  and  kiss  him. 

They  shook  hands  quite  formally,  but  brown 
eyes  looked  into  grey,  and  grey  eyes  looked 
into  brown,  and  what  they  saw  seemed  to  please 
both  colors. 

"  Princess,"  he  whispered,  "  welcome  to  your 
kingdom! " 


Chapter  25 
NOTHING  THE  SAME 

"And  Mammy  —  where  is  Mammy?"  cried 
the  girl  as  the  new  car  responded  to  Mike's 
expert  hand.  "I'm  nearly  dead  to  see 
Mammy!" 

"  Mike  might  go  get  her  as  soon  as  we  are 
landed  at  home,"  suggested  Dr.  Wallace. 

"  Oh,  let  me  go,  too !  I'll  stop  long  enough 
to  see  home,  and  then  I'll  go  and  get  Mammy." 
Esther  had  finally  become  used  to  the  thought 
of  not  having  Mammy  at  home .  with  her,  but 
she  was  not  reconciled  to  it.  Of  course,  she 
knew  Mammy  would  not  get  along  with  the 
other  servants;  knew  she  was  old  and  crabbed, 
no  doubt;  but  still  she  was  Mammy,  the  only 
mother  she  had  ever  known  and  the  only  per 
son  who  would  ever  talk  to  her  about  her 
mother. 

The  car  stopped  in  front  of  the  old  Grant 
house.  Esther  had  eagerly  noted  the  land 
marks  as  they  sped  along  the  streets.  There 
was  the  corner  where  she  had  turned  off  so 
many  years  to  go  to  school!  There  was  the 

269 


270         Mammy's  White  Folks 

drug  store  where  chocolate  sodas  were  most 
delectable!  There  the  old  church  stood  where 
she  had  been  christened  and  where,  on  so  many 
Sundays,  she  had  gone  to  sleep  religiously, 
leaning  against  her  father's  arm.  Now  they 
were  in  their  own  street  —  Garden  Street  - 
and  now  home! 

Eagerly  she  peered  from  the  car,  hardly  able 
to  wait  for  Mike  to  open  the  door.  But  he 
had  made  a  mistake!  Stopped  at  the  wrong 
house!  Where  were  the  lilac  bushes?  Where 
the  wonderful  old  twisted  wisteria  vine  that 
had  shaded  the  porch  so  beautifully?  Where 
were  the  green  shutters  through  which  the  light 
had  sifted  so  softly  and  pleasantly  on  hot  sum 
mer  days?  Even  the  violets  were  gone,  dug 
up  and  thrown  away,  while  stiff,  spaded  beds 
flanked  the  gravel  path  that  led  from  the  street. 

"  Oh,  Daddy ! "  was  all  she  could  say. 

"  I  hope  you  like  it,  dear.  Mrs.  Richards 
has  taken  great  pains  to  get  everything  ready 
for  you.  It  was  too  bad  to  have  to  trim  the 
bushes  and  vines  back  so  far,  but  she  says  the 
florist  insisted  it  must  be  done  to  save  the 
shrubs,  and  the  vine  was  making  the  parlor 
damp,  so  she  tells  me." 

"And  the  violets?"  faintly --"and  the 
shutters?" 


Nothing  the  Same  271 

"  Oh,  I  never  thought  about  the  violets!  The 
shutters  needed  painting  badly,  and  Mrs.  Rich 
ards  thought  you  would  like  them  done  in 
another  color." 

"  Of  course ! "  Esther's  voice  sounded  so 
dead  that  she  wondered  if  it  could  be  hers.  She 
bit  her  lips  violently.  She  was  glad  Peter  and 
Jim  had  left  them  at  the  station.  They  were 
to  come  to  supper  on  that  evening,  her  birth 
day  supper,  and  by  that  time,  maybe,  she  would 
feel  better  about  all  of  these  awful  changes. 
Jim  must  not  know  how  she  felt.  All  of  her 
old  hatred  of  Mrs.  Richards  was  back  again  in 
full  force. 

'Vandal!  Vandal!  And  she  knew  I  would 
hate  it !  She  did  it  on  purpose ! "  her  heart 
cried  out. 

"  I  must  leave  you  now,  my  dear,"  Dr.  Wal 
lace  said.  "  I'll  send  the  car  back  for  you 
immediately;  Dudley  tells  me  I  am  wanted 
badly  on  some  case.  Mike  can  bring  in  your 
bags  later  on."  Esther  kissed  him.  She  was 
glad  he  was  going.  She  wanted  to  be  alone 
for  a  few  moments  and  pull  herself  together. 
After  all,  maybe  the  woman  had  thought  she 
was  improving  things  —  but  the  poor  lilacs! 
The  poor  old  twisted  vine! 

Slowly   and   sadly   she   went   up   the    steps. 


272         Mammy's  White  Folks 

And  so  this  was  her  homecoming!  She  was 
going  up  the  steps  of  her  home  like  any  visitor. 
She  tried  the  handle  of  the  door.  It  was 
locked.  In  Mammy's  day  it  was  always  left 
unlatched,  so  she  could  run  in  and  out  without 
having  to  ring. 

She  wondered  if  Mrs.  Richards  knew  she 
was  standing  out  there,  and  if  she  did,  why 
she  did  not  have  the  door  open  and  a  greeting 
of  welcome  for  her.  She  glanced  at  the  parlor 
windows. .  The  shutters  were  bowed  —  not 
opened  wide  to  let  the  spring  sunshine  in,  as 
she  had  pictured.  Through  the  slats  she  was 
conscious  of  eyes  watching  her.  With  a  mighty 
effort  at  self-control,  she  took  a  long  breath  and 
rang  the  bell. 

Like  any  visitor,  she  was  kept  waiting  for 
a  few  minutes;  then  the  door  opened  and  she 
was  ushered  into  the  hall  by  the  very  correct 
maid  who  answered  the  bell. 

"I  am  Miss  Esther!  I'll  just  go  straight 
to  my  room." 

"  But  Mrs.  Richards  said  to  show  you  into 
the  parlor.  She  will  be  down  tereckly,"  said 
the  girl  with  a  touch  of  impertinence, —  nothing 
quite  tangible  but  something  that  Esther  was 
quick  to  note.  For  a  moment  she  felt  inclined 
to  resent  it,  but  no,  she  would  stick  to  her 


Nothing  the  Same  273 

resolve    to    be    gentle    and    forbearing.      She 
quietly  went  into  the  parlor. 

Changes,  more  changes!  Gingerly  she 
seated  herself  on  the  edge  of  a  chair.  The 
pictures  were  all  moved  and  hung  differently; 
some  of  them  even  gone!  Where  was  the  little 
fanciful  painting  she  had  made  of  her  mother 
when  she  was  only  twelve  years  old?  Gone,  too! 
What  was  her  father  thinking  of?  Had  he 
fallen  into  the  clutches  of  this  person  so  that 
he  even  allowed  her  to  take  the  pictures  out 
of  his  parlor?  And  the  chandelier,  all  picked 
out  with  shiny  gilt!  Tears  of  rage  filled  her 
eyes,  but  she  brushed  them  away  as  she  heard 
Mrs.  Richards  descending  the  stairs. 

"  How  do  you  do? "  was  the  formal  greeting 
exchanged  between  the  two  women,  and  since 
both  of  them  had  asked  it,  neither  of  them 
answered  it. 

"  I  should  like  to  go  to  my  room,  please." 

'  Why,  certainly,  but  would  you  not  like 
some  refreshment  after  your  journey?  " 

"  No,  I  thank  you,"  she  said.  "  Mike  is 
coming  for  me  in  a  few  minutes,  and  I  should 
like  to  go  to  my  room  first." 

'  Your  room  is  all  ready  for  you.  I  have 
put  you  in  the  front  room,  over  the  parlor.  I 
thought  you  would  like  the  best  room  in  the 


Mammy's  White  Folks 

house.  I  consulted  your  father  and  he  agreed 
with  me." 

"Not  have  my  own.  room!  I  —  I  —  " 
Esther  choked. 

"Of  course,  now  that  you  are  grown  and 
will  no  doubt  make  vour  debut,  it  seemed  fit- 

v 

ting  to  me  that  you  should  have  a  better  room 
than  the  one  you  had  occupied.  It  is  very 
near  the  servant's  quarters  and  not  so  desirable 
as  the  front  room." 

"All  right!"  Again  Esther  controlled  the 
tears  that  were  burning  her  eyes. 

There  was  certainly  nothing  to  complain  of 
in  the  front  room.  It  was  a  spacious  chamber, 
as  clean  as  clean  could  be,  with  a  huge,  four- 
posted  bed  and  handsome,  heavy  furniture. 
The  curtains  were  stiff  and  fresh  and  the  place 
still  smelt  of  new  paper  and  paint.  Esther 
peeped  out  of  the  window  and  her  eyes  fell 
on  the  trimmed  lilac  bushes  and  spaded  beds. 

"  They  look  like  new  graves,"  she  shuddered. 
"  Ah,  there  is  Mike !  Dear  Mike,  he  at  least 
is  the  same."  She  opened  the  window  and 
called  down  to  the  chauffeur  who  drew  up  his 
car  to  the  curbing. 

"  Bring  my  bags  up  here,  please,  Mike,  and 
I'll  be  right  down." 

Without  a  word  to  Mrs,  Richards  she  flew 


Nothing  the  Same  275 

down  the  steps  and  jumped  into  the  car. 

"  Let  me  drive,  Mike.  I  haven't  had  the 
wheel  for  months  and  months." 

"  Sure,  Miss,  and  I  thought  ye  would  want 
to  see  how  the  new  car  runs  itself,"  and  the 
delighted  Mike  made  way  for  her. 

"  She's  on  the  front  seat  with  the  chauffeur," 
Mrs.  Richards  remarked  to  the  housemaid  who 
was  peeping  out  of  the  window.  Mrs.  Rich 
ards  had  managed  to  make  the  servants  dread 
the  appearance  of  the  young  mistress.  She  had 
talked  much  about  the  way  Mammy  had  spoiled 
her  and  how  exacting  she  was.  And  then,  the 
turmoil  incident  to  her  arrival  had  naturally 
thrown  much  extra  work  on  the  servants.  This 
they  resented,  and  laid  the  blame  on  Esther. 

"  Tell  me  about  Cora,  Mike  —  Cora  and  lit 
tle  Esther." 

'  Well,  Miss  Esther,  Cora  and  me  are  going 
to  get  married,"  blushed  the  chauffeur. 

"Oh,  Mike,  how  splendid!" 

"  You  see,  my  mother  has  took  such  a  shine 
to  the  kid  - 

'  Yes,  and  you  took  such  a  shine  to  Cora. 
Oh,  Mike,  I  am  so  glad!  When  is  it  to  be? " 

"  We  were  just  awaiting  for  you  to  come 
home." 

"Well,  I'm  here  now,  thank  goodness!" 


"My  baby!  Mylilbaby!  Oh,  you  is  growed 
puttier  an'  puttier!" 

"More  like  my  mother.  Mammy?" 

"P'r'aps!  But  you  still  favors  yo'se'f  pow'- 
ful  much." 

"  Oh,  Mammy,  it  is  so  lovely  to  see  you. 
And  you  are  just  the  same,  only  you  can  see 
better,  can't  you,  Mammy?" 

"  Sho,  I  kin  see  wif  my  eyes  as  good  as  you 
kin,  an*  I  kin  hear  wif  my  years  as  good  as 
anybody.  My  ol'  laigs  is  all  that  is  done  gib 
out.  Ifn  it  hadn't  a  been  fer  these  ol'  no 
'count  laigs,  I'd  a  been  standin'  on  the  flat  form 
ter  be  the  fust  ter  set  eyes  on  yer." 

'  Well,  now  you  are  coming  home  with  me. 
I  simply  must  see  you.  Do  you  know  that 
this  is  my  birthday?  I  am  twenty  to-day.  I 
couldn't  have  a  birthday  party  without  you, 
Mammy." 

"  Sho  I  knows  it.  Ain't  I  been  a-squeezin 
my  hins  ter  git  aigs  ter  make  a  cake  fer  yer? 
I  wan't  gonter  hab  no  one-two-three  cake  sea- 

276 


The  Plan  of  Patience          277 

soned  wif  co'ner-sto'  vernilla  —  the  kin'  yo'  paw 
is  had  ter  eat  lately.  Cose,  that's  good  ernough 
fer  jes'  plain  ev'yday,  but  buthdays  is  diffunt 
an*  yo'  buthday  is  eben  mo'  diffunt.  No,  sir, 
I  wa'  termined  ter  hab  a  weddin'  cake  style 
seasoned  wif  Frinch  brandy  an'  raised  wif  the 
whites  er  eighteen  aigs.  Th'ain't  no  alum 
powders  nor  delemterious  substance  in  this  hyar 
cake.  It  air  composed  er  elbow  grease.  Thank 
Gawd,  my  arms  is  mo'  fitten  than  my  laigs.  Ifn 
I  could  jes'  walk  aroun'  on  my  han's,  I'd  be 
right  spry." 

The  old  woman  hobbled  to  the  table,  and 
gently  raised  the  cloth  covering  the  wonderful 
cake. 

"Oh,  Mammy,  Mammy,  what  a  beauty! 
Mammy,  just  give  me  a  teensy  pinch,  one  down 
underneath!  Nobody  will  know." 

"  The  same  baby! "  declared  Mammy,  de 
lightedly.  "  I  almost  knowed  you'd  want  a 
pinch,  so  I  done  cooked  a  teensy  extra  one  fer 
you'n  me,  icin'  an*  all." 

The  old  colored  woman  and  the  young  white 
one  munched  their  little  cake  and  looked 
lovingly  at  each  other.  They  dared  not  let 
themselves  mention  the  subjects  that  were 
closest  to  their  hearts,  and  so  they  put  them  off, 
pretending  thtat  time  had  stood  still  and  the 


278         Mammy's  White  Folks 

most  important  thing  in  life  was  the  tiny,  white- 
iced  cake. 

"  Have  you  seen  the  house  and  all  the  —  the 
—  improvements,  Mammy?"  finally  ventured 
Esther. 

"  No,  my  chiF,  I  ain't  been  able  ter  git  over 
ter  the  gret  house  fer  quite  a  spell.  It  air 
putty  nigh  three  weeks  sence  the  rheumatiz 
kinder  hit  me.  I  been  a-havin  lumbago  in  my 
knee  jints.  I  been  onable  ter  do  my  lil  washin' 
here  lately.  What  they  been  improvin'  ? " 

And  then  Esther  told  the  old  woman  of  all 
the  cruel  changes  in  her  home.  Together  they 
wept,  Esther  for  the  home,  and  Mammy  for 
Esther. 

"  I  reckon  Mrs.  Richards  didn't  mean  no 
harm.  She  jes'  ain't  bawned  ter  hairloons. 
She  laks  varnishy  things  what  kin  be  bought 
in  the  sto'.  I  done  hear  tell  she  varnished  the 
dinin'  room  table  what  air  got  a  polish  er 
gemerations  er  Wallaces.  She  don'  mean  no 
harm,  honey." 

"  But  my  room !  What  right  has  she  to  move 
me  out  of  my  own  room?  Why,  Mammy,  I've 
been  dreaming  of  getting  back  in  my  own  dear 
room." 

"  Ain't  she  done  sayed  yo'  paw  knew  it? " 

"  Yes,  but  —  " 


The  Plan  of  Patience          279 

"  Now,  chil'  yo'  ol'  Mammy  is  all  kin'  er 
fools,  but  she  knows  some  things  an'  you  listen 
ter  her.  Don't  you  make  no  trouble  'bout  all 
these  here  changes  fer  yit  a  while.  You  jes' 
perten'  lak  you  is  pleased." 

"But  how  can  I?" 

"  Sho!  You  done  play-acted  a  plenty  ter 
know  how  ter  fool  her.  You  perten'  you  is  the 
princuss  an'  Mrs.  Richards  is  a  wicked  step 
mother  or  witch  or  sumpen,  an'  you  is  got  a 
tarsk  ter  fool  her  ter  save  yo'  paw." 

"  All  right,  Mammy,  if  you  will  be  my  fairy 
godmother?  " 

'  Well,  the  fust  thing  I  is  a  gonter  do  is  ter 
tell  you  that  you  ain't  called  on  ter  set  too 
much  sto'  on  changes.  They  ain't  in  nothin' 
but  'pearances.  You  mus'  put  yo'  min'  on 
sompen  what  cyarn't  change.  Yo  paw  ain't 
changed.  He  lubs  you  jes'  as  much  as  eber." 

"But  does  he,  Mammy?" 

"Sho  he  do!  An  then  Mr.  Peter  — Mr. 
Peter  ain't  got  no  mo'  change  in  him  than  the 
mountings.  He  done  come  ter  stay." 

"Yes,  dear  old  Peter!" 

"  An'  then  Dr.  Jim  Dudley  —  He  —  ain't  he 
the  same?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  reckon  so."  Esther 
blushed. 


280         Mammy's  White  Folks 

"  You  knows  so.  An'  as  fer  the  ol'  house, 
why,  chil',  the  house  is  jes'  the  same.  Paint  an' 
paper  cyarn't  kill  a  house.  It  didn't  take  many 
days  ter  put  on  the  yaller  stuff  you  say  Mrs. 
Richards  done  choosed,  an'  it  wouldn't  take  but 
jes'  so  many  days  ter  scrape  it  off  an*  git  it 
the  color  you  laks.  The  laylock  roots  is  thar, 
too,  an'  will  sprout  up  agin.  The  ol'  twis'ed 
vime  will  sen'  out  shoots  too,  an'  'fo'  you  knows 
it  happened,  It  will  be  as  good  as  new.  An*  we 
kin  plant  mo'  vi'lets  in  the  ol'  places." 

"  But,  Mammy,  how  can  we  when  you  say  I 
must  pretend  to  like  it  all  ? " 

"  Why,  chil',  that  there  Mrs.  Richards  is 
a-ridin'  fer  a  fall.  She's  too  low-lifed  ter  pros 
per  long.  She  done  wuck  her  devilmint  putty 
nigh  ter  a  finish.  You  jes'  bide  yo'  time  lak  I 
done  an'  wait." 

Mike  had  a  more  cheerful  passenger  going 
than  he  had  coming.  Mammy  had  given  her  a 
new  outlook.  "  Things  are  not  so  sad  after 
all,"  thought  Esther  as  she  sat  by  Mammy  on 
the  back  seat,  the  precious  cake  with  all  its 
glory  of  icing  held  carefully  between  them. 


Chapter  27 
ESTHER  AND  JIM 

Esther  had  learned  self-control.  That  fact 
was  proven  conclusively  when  she  smiled  at 
Mrs.  Richards  and  thanked  her  for  all  the 
improvements  she  had  made  on  the  house  for 
her  sake.  She  did  it  in  the  presence  of  their 
guests  at  the  birthday  supper.  Her  father 
looked  pleased,  but  Jim  and  Peter  looked 
mystified.  They  hated  the  changes,  and  longed 
to  say  how  they  hated  them.  Mrs.  Richards, 
who  was  rather  hoping  for  trouble,  intending 
thereby  to  put  Esther  in  the  wrong,  did  her 
best  to  be  gracious,  but  the  white  dents  came 
around  her  nose  and  her  mouth  shut  very  tight. 
Mammy,  who  was  peeping  in  at  the  door,  gave 
a  chuckle. 

Mammy  was  taking  great  delight  in  annoying 
Mrs.  Richards  by  looking  at  her  keenly.  That 
lady  had  been  able  to  avoid  Mammy  up  to  this 
time,  but  now  that  Esther  had  come  home,  the 
old  woman  was  privileged  to  take  the  place  she 
had  formerly  had.  She  was  in  and  out  of  the 
dining-room,  sometimes  assisting  the  pert  maid 


282         Mammy's  White  Folks 

to  serve.  She  gazed  earnestly  at  Lucile,  too, 
as  though  recalling  something. 

Lucile,  in  spite  of  herself,  could  not  help 
being  attracted  by  Esther.  Esther  was  all 
loveliness  and  kindness  to  the  girl. 

"  She  is  not  responsible  for  her  mother,"  she 
said  to  herself.  "Nobody  is  —  not  that  I'd 
mind  being  for  my  own  mother." 

Esther's  eyes  were  shining  and  her  color 
reflected  her  excitement.  She  was  so  gay  that 
nobody  at  the  table  dreamed  how  her  heart  was 
beating  under  the  beautiful  new  Paris  gown. 
Mammy  knew,  and  she  shook  her  head  sadly  as 
she  peeped  from  the  pantry  door. 

Mrs.  Richards  had  never  seen  Esther  "  carry 
ing  on,"  as  Mammy  called  it,  when  the  girl  was 
so  full  of  spirits  that  she  actually  bubbled  over. 
She  had  always  been  quiet  and  reserved  in  her 
presence  —  dull  the  older  woman  had  thought 
her.  Now  her  wit  sparkled  and  flashed  from 
person  to  person.  Her  charm  was  like  an  elec 
tric  current  and  brought  sparks  from  everybody 
with  whom  it  came  in  contact.  Even  old  Peter 
arose  to  the  occasion  and  actually  made  a  pun 
—  the  first  in  his  life. 

Doctor  Jim  gazed  like  one  bewitched  at  the 
beautiful  girl.  Her  gown  was  of  cloth  of  gold, 
that  darkened  in  the  folds  to  the  exact  color  of 


Esther  and  Jim  283 

her  Hair.  He  marveled  at  the  snowy  whiteness 
of  her  neck  and  arms.  He  forgot  to  eat,  and 
forgot  to  be  pleasant  to  his  neighbor,  Lucile. 
He  was  oblivious  to  everything  but  the  fact  that 
Esther  was  home  and  that  he  could  hardly  wait 
to  get  her  by  herself  and  tell  her  how  he  adored 
her.  Twenty  was  old  enough,  surely,  he  thought. 
She  had  been  out  in  the  world  and  had  met  other 
men.  And  by  this  time,  she  should  know  her 
heart.  If  he  could  win  her,  he  would  not  be 
taking  advantage  of  her  youth  and  inexperience. 
If  he  could!  Well,  if  he  failed  at  first,  he  could 
keep  on  trying.  Jim  Dudley  felt  very  doubtful 
of  his  own  desirability  as  he  gazed  in  the  eyes  of 
this  golden  girl.  He  had  known  that  she  was 
lovely  as  a  child.  He  knew  also  that  the  day 
would  come  when  he  would  tell  her  of  his  love, 
but  he  could  not  have  known  into  what  a  glowing 
woman  that  child  would  grow,  nor  could  he  real 
ize  that  the  love  he  had  for  the  eighteen-year-old 
girl  would  turn  into  a  consuming  flame. 

Would  the  supper  never  end?  He  looked 
knowingly  at  Mammy,  who  was  helping  to 
remove  the  plates.  The  old  woman  knew  how  he 
felt.  He  was  sure  of  it,  because  she  seemed  to  be 
hurrying  the  pert  maid  and  the  dignified  butler, 
who  were  more  stylish  than  expeditious  in  their 
serving. 


284         Mammy's  White  Folks 

"  You  alls  thinks  if  you  co'ses  yo'  victuals,  you 
is  did  all  that  is  ter  be  did, "  the  old  woman 
declared,  as  she  remonstrated  with  the  two  ser 
vants  in  the  pantry.  *  Young  folks  don't  want 
ter  set  all  night  while  you  is  stylishfying.  You 
alls  b'lieves  in  mo*  plates  than  things  ter  eat  off 'n 
'em.  Anybody'd  think  white  folks  had  pertitions 
in  they  innards.  I  b'lieves  in  soup  plates  an'  din 
ner  plates  an'  butter  plates  an'  pie  plates  —  but 
all  of  this  puttin'  two  green  peas  on  a  plate  an' 
snatching  it  off  an'  an'  puttin'  a  soggy  'tater  on 
anudder  wif  a  bit  of  feesh  no  bigger'n  a  sick 
cat  could  eat,  an'  then  a  takin'  that  away,  an' 
so  on,  I  tell  yer  'tain't  our  way.  No  wonder  Doc 
Andy  is  lookin'  so  flabbyfied.  He  don't  git 
'nough  ter  fill  out  his  hide.  All  these  here  lil 
samples  you  han's  him  ain't  stickin*  ter  his  ribs. 
You  ain't  called  on  ter  keep  a-fillin'  his  glass  so 
full,  neither." 

"  Over  at  last !  And  now,  will  these  people 
ever  let  me  have  a  moment  with  Esther? " 
thought  Jim.  Peter  looked  as  though  he  were 
there  for  all  night,  so  fascinated  was  he  by  the 
beauty  and  charm  of  his  godchild.  Esther  had 
given  him  another  kiss  when  she  thanked  him 
for  the  birthday  roses,  and  at  supper  she  had 
appeared  wearing  one  in  her  hair. 

Dr.  Wallace,  who  had  drunk  rather  too  many 


Esther  and  Jim  285 

toasts,  was  in  a  gay  mood  and  beamed  on  every 
body.  As  for  Jim,  were  he  not  descended  of  a 
long  line  of  resolute  pioneers,  who  refused  to 
give  up  no  matter  how  great  the  odds,  he  would 
have  left  without  having  that  word  with  Esther 
that  must  be  spoken  —  and  spoken  with  no  third 
person  present.  Mammy  finally  arranged  it  for 
him.  She  had  come  to  say  good-night  to  her 
godchild,  and  by  skillful  management,  made 
Peter  decide  to  leave  for  his  bachelor  quar 
ters  on  the  car  that  had  been  ordered  out  to  take 
her  home.  Esther  went  into  the  hall  to  bid 
good-bye  again  to  her  two  dear  friends.  When 
Mammy  and  Peter  had  left,  the  blood  of  the 
frontiersman  asserted  itself  and  Jim  drew  her 
into  the  library  and  shut  the  door. 

"  At  last!  I  thought  it  would  never  be  over  — 
but  I'm  not  going  to  waste  time  talking  about 
it  —  there's  too  much  more  to  say,  and  I'd  better 
begin  before  somebody  comes  butting  in." 

"  I  think  I  had  better  go  back  to  Daddy 
and  —  and  Mrs.  Richards  and  her  daughter," 
faltered  Esther.  There  was  an  ominous  shine  in 
Jim's  eyes  that  suddenly  made  her  feel  very 
young  and  small  and  a  little  scared.  "  If  you 
will  let  me  pass,  please,  Jim,  dear." 

'  Why,  Esther,  darling,  I  can't  let  you  go 
yet.  I've  been  waiting  for  centuries  to  say  some- 


286         Mammy's  White  Folks 

thing  to  you,  and  now  I  simply  have  to  get  it  out, 
even  if  you  don't  want  to  listen.  Will  you  listen, 
Esther? " 

«!__!_  don't  know." 

"I  could  tell  you  lots  better  if  you  sit  down. 
Won't  you  let  me  hold  your  hands?  " 

"  Well,  I  believe  I  could  listen  better  if  we 
just  sit  down  and  I  hold  my  own  hands."  She 
seated  herself  on  the  sofa,  drawing  to  one  side  as 
Jim  seated  himself  beside  her. 

Jim  remonstrated  gently.  "  I  don't  see  the 
use,  dearest,  in  putting  distance  between  us. 
Nothing  will  ever  keep  me  away  from  you  — 
except  one  thing.  And  you  wouldn't  say  that 
one  thing,  would  you,  dear?  Of  course,  if  you 
have  found  a  new  prince,  a  foreign  nobleman  or 
something,  I  shall  have  to  submit,  but  you 
haven't  done  that,  have  you? " 

«]ST__o!" 

"  I  know  you  are  mighty  young,  and,  dearest, 
maybe  I  ought  to  let  you  look  around  before 
I  tell  you  this  thing  I'm  going  to  tell  you,  but  — 
I  —  but  —  suppose  you  look  around  and  find 
somebody  else,  what  in  the  thunder  will  I  do? 
Why,  little  girl,  I've  loved  you  ever  since 
I  saw  you  sitting  in  the  mulberry  tree  —  ever 
since  you  came  sweeping  into  the  room  and 
bowed  so  low  I  had  to  help  you  up.  I  knew  it 


Esther  and  Jim  287 

all  the  time,  but  somehow  I  never  realized  how 
dear  you  were  to  me  until  you  went  off  to  school. 
I  have  waited  and  waited  for  you  to  come  home. 
But  I  did  not  know  how  beautiful  you  would 
be,  and  now  that  you  are  home,  I  find  I  love 
you  ten  times  as  much  as  I  thought  I  did.  Oh, 
Esther,  won't  you  —  !  " 

:<  Won't  I  what?"  she  whispered. 

"  Won't  you  be  my  princess  and  let  me  be  the 
prince  forever?  " 

Esther  looked  at  him,  her  heart  in  her  eyes. 
She  remembered  what  dear  old  Mammy  had 
said  to  her  about  changes  in  people  being  the 
only  thing  that  mattered.  Jim  had  not  changed. 
His  eyes  were  the  same  kind,  merry  ones  that 
had  looked  into  hers  when  he  said,  "  Rise, 
princess ! "  And  he  loved  her  and  wanted  to 
marry  her!  Love  him?  Of  course  she  loved 
him!  She  couldn't  remember  when  she  hadn't. 
But  now  the  feeling  was  different.  It  wasn't 
like  loving  Daddy  and  Mammy  and  Peter  and 
Marian.  Loving  them  did  not  make  her  all 
choked  up.  This  new  kind  of  love,  the  kind  she 
felt  for  Jim,  almost  hurt. 

He  took  her  hands  in  his.    His  voice  came  to 
her  in  accents  of  languorous  softness. 
'  What  did  you  say,  dearest? " 

She  hung  her  head.     She  wanted  to  tell  him 


288         Mammy's  White  Folks 

how  much  she  did  love  him,  but  the  heart  that 
had  been  beating  so  wildly  under  the  cloth-of- 
gold  somehow  got  up  in  her  throat. 

"What  is  it,  darling?" 

"I  —  I  —  Oh,  Jim,  I  wish  my  mother  could 
be  alive!" 

"  Poor  little  Esther! "  He  kissed  her  hands. 
Just  as  he  did  so,  the  door  opened  quickly  and 
Mrs.  Richards  came  into  the  room. 

"Pardon  me!"  she  said,  "but  Dr.  Wallace 
sent  me  to  suggest  that  Miss  Esther  might  want 
to  excuse  herself  and  retire,  as  she  had  rather  a 
strenuous  day."  There  was  an  air  of  insolent 
triumph  in  her  bearing  of  which  both  Esther 
and  Dr.  Dudley  were  conscious.  They  gave  each 
other  a  meek  farewell,  Jim  glancing  into  the 
girl's  troubled  eyes  and  whispering: 

"  To-morrow! " 


Chapter  28 
SETTING  A  TRAP 

Andrew  Wallace  could  not  get  it  straight  in 
his  own  mind  how  the  thing  had  come  to  pass  — 
how  he,  most  bashful  and  reserved  of  men,  had 
been  discovered  by  Lucile  Richards  with  his 
arms  around  her  mother. 

He  remembered  quite  well  that  he  had  drunk 
several  toasts  in  -honor  of  Esther's  birthday  and 
in  consequence  had  felt  quite  cheerful  and  lively. 
Champagne  always  made  him  forget  his  bash- 
fulness.  He  remembered  that  the  party  had  gone 
into  the  parlor  together  and  that  Peter  had  made 
a  pun  —  quite  a  funny  pun.  But  he  could  not 
recall  it.  Of  course,  the  funniest  part  of  the 
pun  was  that  old  Peter  had  made  it.  Mammy 
had  come  in,  and  he  remembered  telling  her  he 
would  have  her  pension  ready  for  her  on  the 
morrow  —  cash  money  and  no  checks  —  and  she 
had  said  she  would  come  over  on  the  trolley. 
Then  he  remembered  that  everybody  had  left  the 
room  except  Mrs.  Richards.  She  had  sunk  down 
in  a  chair  and  said  that  she  was  tired.  He  had 
asked  her  if  he  could  get  her  anything,  and  she 

239 


290          Mammy's  White  Folks 

had  suggested  that  perhaps  a  bit  of  champagne 
might  help  her  —  she  had  not  taken  any  at  din 
ner.  There  was  one  bottle  left  on  ice.  She 
would  fetch  it,  she  said. 

'  Won't  you  drink  with  me? "  she  had  asked 
in  a  kind  and  friendly  tone.  No  doubt  the  poor 
woman  had  overworked  herself  preparing  the 
birthday  supper.  He  had  said  yes,  and  together 
they  finished  the  bottle. 

Then  without  warning  she  had  put  her  head 
down  on  the  arm  of  her  chair  and  burst  into 
tears.  Her  shoulders  were  shaking  with  sobs. 
She  could  not  speak,  but  had  motioned  him  to 
leave  her.  Of  course  he  could  not  do  that.  She 
might  be  ill.  He  bent  over  her,  patting  her  on 
the  back  and  begging  her  to  let  him  do  some 
thing  for  her.  He  could  not  swear  to  it,  but  his 
impression  was  that  she  had  raised  herself  up 
out  of  her  chair  and  he  had  assisted  her.  How 
he  got  his  arms  around  her  was  a  mystery,  but 
around~her  they  were,  and  at  that  moment  Lucile 
entered  the  room. 

He  could  not  remember  exactly  what  had 
happened  after  that.  He  had  a  faint  idea  that 
Lucile  had  kissed  her  mother  and  shaken  hands 
with  him.  Why,  he  did  not  know.  It  seemed 
strange  that  a  young  woman  who  lived  in  his 
house  and  with  whom  he  had  just  supped  and 


.     Setting  a  Trap  291 

spent  the  evening  should  be  shaking  hands  with 
him.  This  matter  of  handshaking  was  worrying 
him  more  than  anything  else  as  he  lay  in  his  bed 
the  morning  after  the  birthday  party.  Why 
should  Lucile  kiss  her  mother?  He  could  not 
remember  having  seen  her  do  so  before,  even 
when  the  girl  went  off  to  her  office  in  the  morn 
ing.  They  did  not  seem  to  be  a  very  affection 
ate  pair.  Esther  was  always  kissing  him,  but 
Esther  was  such  a  loving  child. 

What  an  old  fool  he  was  to  have  drunk  so 
much  champagne.  His  head  felt  like  old  times  — 
before  Esther  came  into  his  life.  He  had  not 
had  too  much  to  drink  for  twenty  years.  Cham 
pagne  had  usually  been  served  on  Esther's  birth 
day,  but  never  more  than  was  required  to  drink 
to  many  happy  returns  of  the  day.  The  butler 
must  have  kept  his  glass  filled  without  his  real 
izing  it. 

A  cold  bath  restored  him  somewhat,  but  the 
behavior  of  his  housekeeper  and  her  daughter 
still  puzzled  him.  He  wished  he  had  a  cup  of 
Mammy's  coffee.  In  the  old  days  she  used  to 
bring  it  to  his  bed-side,  those  youthful  days 
before  his  mascot  came  to  live  with  him,  when  it 
was  the  usual  thing  for  him  to  drink  too  much 
at  night  and  have  a  headache  the  following 
morning.  He  could  recall  how  sad  her  kindly 


292         Mammy's  White  Folks 

brown  face  would  look  as  she  handed  him  the 
coffee.  What  good  coffee  it  always  was,  too! 
Maud's  coffee  was  either  strong  and  muddy, 
with  a  bitter  taste,  or  weak  and  watery.  She 
never  seemed  to  strike  the  happy  medium.  He 
had  not  liked  to  complain  to  Mrs.  Richards. 
She  tried  so  hard  to  have  everything  nice,  and 
no  doubt  it  would  have  hurt  her  feelings  to  have 
him  find  fault.  He  wondered  why  she  herself 
did  not  notice  how  poor  the  coffee  was. 

What  in  the  deuce  had  the  woman  cried  about  ? 
He  hated  to  see  women  cry.  Well,  no  doubt  the 
poor  woman  regretted  the  occurrence  too.  Such 
an  invaluable  office  attendant,  he  reflected,  must 
hate  herself  for  having  indulged  in  the  feminine 
weakness  of  tears.  Another  time  he  must  be 
careful  and  not  be  too  sympathetic.  She  might 
not  understand.  He  heartily  hoped  there  would 
not  be  another  time.  He  wondered  how  long 
it  would  take  Esther  to  learn  how  to  keep  house. 
Mammy  might  take  her  in  charge  and  show  her. 
He  hoped  she  would  not  lean  towards  so  many 
fancy  dishes. 

He  decided  not  to  eat  any  breakfast.  The 
thought  of  what  Maud  would  serve  him  was 
abhorrent.  A  cup  of  strong  coffee  at  a  restau 
rant  would  set  him  on  his  feet  again,  and  doubt 
less  poor  Mrs.  Richards  would  be  relieved  at  his 


Setting  a  Trap  293 

-  \ 

absence,  after  having  been  so  foolish  as  to  weep 
in  his  arms  the  night  before.  He  ordered  the 
car  and  was  gone  before  the  ladies  of  the  house 
hold  were  stirring. 

The  angel  of  sleep  had  not  dealt  very  kindly 
with  those  ladies  during  the  night,  and  now  that 
morning  had  come,  all  three  of  them  were  trying 
to  make  up  for  the  wakeful  hours  they  had 
spent.  Esther  had  been  too  happy  and  excited 
to  sleep.  She  was  sorry  not  to  be  in  her  own 
bed  in  her  own  room.  To  dream  of  Jim  there 
would  have  been  far  sweeter.  On  the  other 
hand  it  was  fun  to  woo  sleep  for  the  first  time 
in  the  guest  chamber.  One  could  amuse  one's 
self,  after  the  manner  of  girls  sleeping  in  a 
strange  room,  by  naming  the  four  corners  for 
four  men  friends.  In  the  morning  one  was  sure 
to  laugh  when  one  woke  up,  glanced  at  the 
corner  one  was  facing,  and  ascertained  the  man 
one  was  sure  to  marry. 

Lucile  could  not  sleep  for  weeping.  How  she 
hated  herself!  The  evening  had  been  one  of  tor 
ture  to  her — the  torture  of  watching  the  love- 
light  in  the  eyes  of  Jim  Dudley.  But  the  light 
did  not  shine  for  her,  as  she  so  ardently  had 
hoped  it  might.  It  burned  for  Esther  —  Esther, 
who  had  everything  and  whom  everybody  loved. 
Peter  and  Mammy  had  just  left  when  Lucile 


294         Mammy's  White  Folks 

had  seen  Dr.  Dudley  lead  Esther  into  the  library 
and  shut  the  door.  She  had  rushed  up  to  her 
room  for  the  storm  of  tears  she  felt  was  coming. 
Before  she  had  quite  wept  herself  out,  her 
mother  had  knocked  hurriedly  on  her  door,  com 
manding  her  to  open  it  and  listen  to  her.  With 
a  heart  full  of  bitterness  she  had  consented  to  be 
a  party  to  the  fraud  her  mother  was  about  to 
perpetrate  on  their  kind  and  generous  host.  Her 
part  was  to  stand  in  the  hall  until  given  a  signal 
from  her  mother;  then  she  was  to  enter  the 
parlor.  She  quickly  perceived  that  Dr.  Wallace 
had  been  drinking  too  much  to  know  what  he  was 
doing,  or  to  take  in  the  fact  that  she  was  con 
gratulating  him  on  his  having  won  the  heart  of 
her  mother.  She  wondered  if  he  remembered 
anything  at  all  about  it,  or  if  her  mother  would 
be  forced  to  remind  him  of  what  had  passed 
between  them.  All  that  had  passed  had  been  a 
few  kindly,  maudlin  words  from  the  physician, 
who  was  trying  to  comfort  a  lady  in  distress, 
and  then  when  the  signal  came  and  Lucile  had 
entered,  she  found  her  mother  locked  in  his  arms 
as  he  swayed  unsteadily  on  his  feet. 

;<  It  was  a  low  thing  to  do!    Don't  speak  to- 
me!"  she  had  exclaimed  when  her  mother  fol 
lowed  her  to  her  room  to  talk  things  over. 

"  Ah,  you  are  cross  because  you  are  not  so 


Setting  a  Trap  295 

clever,"  sneered  the  older  woman.  "  I  inter 
rupted  a  very  pretty  scene  between  Esther  and 
your  friend  a  moment  ago.  I  am  afraid  it  is  all 
up  between  you  two  unless  something  occurs  to 
intervene." 

"  I  don't  want  anything  to  occur!  I  am  sick 
of  all  of  this  intrigue." 

"  Well,  well !  Go  to  bed,  child,  and  you  will 
feel  better  about  it  in  the  morning.  I  am  cer 
tainly  obliged  to  you  for  helping  me  out.  I'll 
do  the  same  for  you  if  I  get  the  chance." 

Mrs.  Richards  went  to  her  room  humming  a 
little  tune.  How  happy  she  was!  The  hard 
times  were  over  for  her.  Perhaps  she  would 
spend  the  rest  of  her  life  in  affluence.  How  for 
tunate  that  Dr.  Wallace  was  such  a  gentleman! 
Even  if  he  had  been  too  deep  in  his  potions  to 
know  what  was  going  on,  the  slightest  reminder 
would  be  all  that  was  necessary.  He  would  be 
the  last  man  on  earth  to  try  to  crawfish  out  of  an 
engagement,  even  if  he  had  been  insensible1  of 
making  it.  She  would  straighten  it  all  out  on  the 
morrow.  In  the  meantime,  sleep !  But  sleep  was 
not  for  her,  either.  Plans  and  plans  and  more 
plans  crowded  through  her  brain. 

Esther  was  the  most  difficult  problem  to  attend 
to.  Maybe  it  would  be  wiser  to  encourage  the 
match  between  her  and  Dr.  Dudley,  as  that 


296         Mammy's  White  Folks 

would  make  things  much  simpler  for  them  all. 
Poor  Lucile!  It  was  too  bad.  If  it  could  be 
managed  differently  she  would  do  it.  It  was  a 
pity  to  allow  such  a  desirable  prospect  to  escape. 
"  And  how  I  do  hate  the  minx ! "  she 
exclaimed.  "  I'd  like  to  hurt  her  —  and  that  old 
nigger,  too ! " 


Chapter  29 
A  PATIENT'S  IDENTITY 

Bright  and  early  Mrs.  Richards  was  in  the 
office.  She  looked  as  fresh  and  clean  as  a  lily 
in  her  spotless  white  linen  dress.  She  was  irri 
tated  that  Lucile  should  have  come  to  breakfast 
with  heavy  eyes  and  a  sullen  expression.  Could 
it  be  that  the  girl  was  not  going  to  play  the 
game?  It  was  a  relief  to  learn  that  the  doctor 
had  gone  off  on  an  early  call,  as  she  did  not  want 
him  to  see  Lucile.  She  was  also  pleased  that 
Esther  had  decided  to  breakfast  in  her  room. 

She  needed  the  time  to  think  and  plan.  Lucile 
had  dragged  herself  off  to  work,  and  Esther, 
no  doubt,  would  not  appear  for  hours,  as  she 
had  much  unpacking  to  do.  Mike  came  with  a 
message  from  Dr.  Wallace,  who  gave  a  list  of 
his  calls  for  the  morning  in  case  he  should  be 
needed.  A  sealed  envelope  containing  Mammy's 
pension  was  also  sent.  Dr.  Wallace  always  saw 
to  it  that  his  faithful  old  servant  had  this  pen 
sion  exactly  on  time,  and  it  was  always  in  crisp 
new  bills,  as  Mammy  would  have  naught  to  do 
with  banks  and  checks. 

297 


298         Mammy's  White  Folks 

The  bell  rang.  She  heard  a  man  asking  in  a 
husky  voice  for  the  doctor. 

"  He  won't  be  in  for  an  hour,"  the  butler 
answered. 

"  I'll  come  in  and  wait." 

What  a  bore  to  have  a  patient  sitting  around 
the  office  for  a  whole  hour,  especially  when  she 
had  so  much  to  think  about,  and  bills  to  make 
out  besides!  The  man  was  ushered  in  by  the 
butler.  With  a  curt  nod  in  his  direction,  but 
without  looking  at  him,  she  went  on  with  her 
work.  The  patient  seated  himself  where  he  could 
take  in  the  clean-cut  profile  of  the  white-clad 
figure.  He  gazed  at  her  attentively  as  she  bent 
over  her  orderly  desk. 

"  Aren't  you  going  to  speak  to  me,  Lou?  " 

For  a  moment  her  heart  stopped  beating,  and 
then  it  hammered  so  violently  that  she  was  forced 
to  put  her  hand  on  it  to  still  its  clamor. 

"  Dick  Stanley! "  she  gasped.  "  What  do  you 
want?  " 

"  I  want  about  everything  a  man  can  want. 
First,  I'd  like  a  kiss.  Don't  look  so  disgusted  !v 
I  know  I'm  pretty  seedy,  but  I'm  clean  enough. 
A  man's  own  wife  might  put  up  with  a  little 
seediness.  You  are  my  own  wife,  you  know." 
He  came  towards  her. 

"Don't  touch  me,  you  brute!" 


A  Patient's  Identity  299 

"  Oh,  come  now,  I'm  not  such  a  brute !  You 
left  me  before  I  left  you.  Neither  one  of  us  is 
an  angel.  I  say,  old  girl,  you  have  remained 
deucedly  handsome.  What  are  you  doing  here  in 
Andrew  Wallace's  home?  I  never  was  more 
surprised." 

"  Oh,  you  did  not  come  here  to  see  me  then?  " 
in  a  relieved  tone.  '  You  did  not  know  I  was 
here?" 

"  How  should  I?  I  came  to  see  Wallace  for 
auld  lang  syne,  hoping  to  get  a  little  cash  out 
of  him.  I  hear  he  has  prospered.  I  fancy  you 
are  in  his  hire,  and  must  know.  What  does  he 
make  a  year? " 

"  None  of  your  business !  " 

"  Oh,  don't  be  so  strict  with  me,  Lou!  I  swear 
I  am  not  going  to  bother  you.  Let's  be  friends. 
What's  your  grouch? " 

"Grouch,  indeed!  Here  I  have  struggled 
along  to  take  care  of  myself  and  Lucile  —  that's 
Lucy,  I  call  her  Lucile  now  —  " 

"  More  stylish,  eh?    Tell  me  about  the  kid!  " 

'  Well,  I  have  taken  care  of  the  both  of  us, 
and  now  that  she  is  on  her  feet  and  I  am  begin 
ning  to  see  some  chance  of  establishing  myself, 
here  you  come  along  —  don't  touch  me,  I  say! 
I  hate  you!  I  wish  I  had  divorced  you  twenty 


300         Mammy's  White  Folks 

"  Well,  why  didn't  you?  " 

"  I  would  have  if  I  thought  there  was  any 
chance  of  your  ever  turning  up  again.'* 

"  I  tell  you  I  won't  trouble  you !  Does  Wal 
lace  know  you  are  the  wife  of  his  old  poker  com 
panion?  " 

"  No,  I  call  myself  Mrs.  Richards.  He  thinks 
I  am  a  widow." 

"  Is  Wallace  still  a  bachelor?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  a  widower.  He  has  a  daughter  who 
was  twenty  yesterday.  His  wife  died  when  she 
was  born." 

'  That's  funny.  It  was  just  about  twenty 
years  ago  that  I  left  this  burg  and  he  was  sup 
posed  to  be  a  bachelor  then.  I  remember  the 
last  night  we  had  a  little  game,  a  terribly  windy, 
rainy  night  in  March.  Wallace  had  a  run  of 
luck  that  wiped  me  out  —  it  was  that  night  that 
some  woman  left  a  baby  on  his  doorstep.  I 
remember  I  guyed  him  by  suggesting  it  was  his. 
Of  course,  I  knew  it  wasn't  —  we  all  knew  that 
Wallace's  middle  name  was  Joseph  —  but  it 
made  the  old  nigger  cook  madder  than  hops.  I 
wonder  what  he  did  with  the  kid.  Just  like  him 
to  keep  it." 

"  Was  it  a  girl  ? "  inquired  the  woman, 
excitedly. 

"  Yes!    It  was  all  wrapped  up  in  an  old  serge 


A  Patient's  Identity  301 

jacket,  and  there  was  an  envelope  of  patterns 
and  some  white  thin  stuff  in  the  bundle.  I 
remember  it  quite  well.  A  guy  named  Peter 
Roche  was  here,  too." 

"  Do  you  know,  Dick,  I'm  almost  glad  you 
have  come  back?  I  can  do  a  lot  for  you  if  you 
will  promise  to  keep  yourself  hidden.  Dr.  Wal 
lace  does  make  a  tremendous  income,  and  if  all 
goes  well,  I  can  control  it.  You  will  have  to  help 
me,  though." 

"Help  you!    How?" 

"  Help  me  by  keeping  out  of  the  way!  " 

"  Hump!  I  have  been  helping  you  for  more 
than  twenty  years!"  He  laughed.  "What's 
your  game? " 

"  I  am  going  to  marry  Andrew  Wallace,  and 
I'll  see  to  it  that  you  spend  the  rest  of  your  days 
in  comfort." 

'  That's  a  dangerous  game,  old  girl.  Sup 
pose  I  object." 

'  That's  nonsense.  You  don't  care  a  rap. 
There  is  no  use  in  pretending  you  do." 

'  You  always  were  a  cold  one.  That's  one 
reason  I  —  " 

"  Never  mind  all  that !  Nobody  knows  I  am 
Mrs.  Stanley,  and  if  anyone  did,  what  difference 
would  it  make  so  long  as  you  don't  make  your 
appearance?  You  look  pretty  down-and-out  — 


302         Mammy's  White  Folks 

hardly  fit  to  make  a  living  —  and  here  I  offer 
you  a  place  on  Easy  Street.  All  you  have  to  do 
is  disappear  again." 

"  But  I  must  see  little  Lucv  first." 

V 

'  That's  just  what  you  mustn't  do  —  at  least 
not  for  a  long  time.  The  girl  is  fully  capable 
of  making  a  fool  of  herself." 

"  I'm  glad  of  that.  A  woman  ought  to  be 
capable  of  making  a  fool  of  herself  on  occasion. 
It's  more  human.  But  I  came  to  see  Wallace, 
hoping  for  a  small  loan.  I'm  dead  broke.  Just 
got  to  this  city  last  night  and  have  not  yet  had 
my  breakfast."  . 

"  I  haven't  any  change  in  the  house  —  only 
a  few  cents.  But  I  can  give  you  a  check."  She 
thought  rapidly.  A  check  might  lead  to  the 
identification  of  this  husband  whom  she  wanted 
to  disappear.  There  was  Mammy's  money! 
Why  not  give  him  that?  She  could  put  the  old 
woman  off  until  she  could  get  the  cash  for  her. 

"Here,  take  this!  There  is  enough  here  to 
keep  you  in  comfort  for  quite  a  while.  Now,  go ! 
Don't  come  here,  for  goodness  sake!  Write  to 
me,  if  you  must,  but  don't  come.  Remember 
my  name  is  Mrs.  Richards." 

He  left,  and  she  watched  him  as  he  walked 
up  the  street.  Was  this  the  man  she  had  once 
loved  —  this  broken,  middle-aged  roue?  Ah, 


A  Patient's  Identity  303 

well!  There  was  no  time  for  sentimentalizing. 
There  was  work  to  be  done.  She  called  the 
housemaid  and  told  her  to  answer  the  office  tele 
phone;  then  with  a  triumphant  smile  on  her  face 
she  mounted  the  stairs  and  tapped  at  Esther's 
door. 


Chapter  30 
THE  UNBELIEVABLE  STORY 

A  sorry,  little  figure,  wretchedness  written 
into  every  outline,  Esther  stood  in  the  middle  of 
her  room,  her  open  trunks,  half  unpacked,  lying 
all  around  her,  and  her  pretty  clothes  scattered 
over  bed  and  chairs.  Was  she  asleep  —  had  she 
dreamed  all  the  terrible  things  that  Mrs.  Rich 
ards  had  just  been  telling  her?  Was  she  Esther 
Wallace  or  was  she  not?  Mrs.  Richards  said 
not  —  that  she  was  a  foundling,  nameless,  living 
on  the  charity  of  Dr.  Wallace. 

That  was  terrible  —  unbelievable!  But  no, 
not  so  terrible  as  the  other  thing  the  woman  had 
mentioned.  She  had  said  that  she  was  to  marry 
her  daddy!  Her  daddy  —  her  own  dear  daddy? 
No,  that  couldn't  be.  There  must  be  some  mis 
take.  Her  heart  cried  out  against  the  thought. 
Lies  —  lies  —  they  must  be  lies!  Her  daddy 
would  not  send  this  heartless  woman  to  tell  her 
this  terrible  thing  about  her  birth!  And  what 
was  it  she  had  said  about  Jim  —  dear  Jim,  who 
was  all  but  her's?  A  selfish  crime  for  her  to 
marry  Jim !  How  ridiculous !  Ruin  his  career  — 

304 


The  Unbelievable  Story         305 

pull  him  to  the  dust  —  those  were  the  phrases 
that  had  been  thrown  at  her.  What  did  these 
things  mean?  The  woman  had  said  that  Jim 
would  never  have  spoken  to  her  of  love  if  he 
had  known  that  she  was  a  foundling. 

A  torrent  of  sobs  overcame  the  little,  dejected 
figure.  And  then  the  thought  came  of  her 
mother  —  the  mother  of  whom  she  had  dreamed 
so  often.  Was  all  that  a  lie,  too?  Was  her 
mother  none  of  the  beautiful  things  she  had 
thought  her  to  be?  Was  her  love  for  her  all 
based  on  a  lie?  Had  her  whole  life  and  hap 
piness  been  built  upon  an  untruth?  And  Mammy 
—  was  Mammy  a  liar,  too,  with  all  her  wonder 
ful  tales  of  her  mother's  golden  hair  and  blue, 
blue  eyes,  her  beautiful  nature  and  tidy  habits? 
And  what  about  her  father's  devotion  to  his 
young  wife;  his  grief  over  her  death  —  so  sharp 
that  he  never  could  speak  of  her?  Were  these 
all  lies? 

What  was  she  to  do?  She  couldn't  stay  in 
the  house  with  all  of  these  people  who  hated  her. 
Mrs.  Richards  hated  her,  or  she  could  not  have 
told  her  those  terrible  things  —  even  if  they  were 
true.  Her  father  no  longer  loved  her,  or  he 
would  not  have  had  a  stranger  tell  her  that  she 
was  not  his  own  child.  He  might  have  felt  that 
she  must  know  about  it,  but  if  he  loved  her,  even 


306         Mammy's  White  Folks 

the  least  bit,  he  would  have  put  his  arms  around 
bar  and  gently  and  tenderly  told  her  the  truth. 
Softened  by  lore,  the  truth  might  not  have  been 
so  horrible. 

Jim  loved  her,  but  when  he  knew  about  her, 
he  would  be  sorry  he  had  told  his  love.  Thank 
God.  she  had  not  had  a  chance  to  answer  his 
question  with  the  fatal  word  that  lay  in  her 
heart  and  eyes  and  trembled  on  her  lips.  She 
would  not  ruin  his  career  for  worlds. 

"  111  go  to  Mammy!  "  she  cried.  "  Mammy 
can  tefl  me  the  truth.  Mammy  loves  me  no  mat 
ter  what  I  am." 

She  piled  the  pretty  clothes  back  in  the  boxes 
and  trunks. 

"IH  have  to  take  some  clothes,  but  only 
enough  to  keep  me  decent  until  I  can  earn  my 
living.  Luefle  can  have  all  these,"  she  thought, 
bitterly.  "  I  wonder  if  she  hates  me,  too." 

**  I  mustn't  take  this  suitcase.  It's  too  hand 
some.  There's  one  up  in  the  attic  that  will  do." 

Quickly  she  climbed  the  attic  stairs.  Mrs. 
Richards'  energy  had  not  extended  to  the  attic. 
It  was  the  one  place  in  the  house  that  had 
remained  untouched  bv  her  efficiency.  The 
trunks  stood  against  the  wall  as  of  yore  and 
chairs  and  tables  were  piled  up  in  the 
r.  There  stood  the  old  valise.  There  was 


The  Unbelievable  Story        3CT7 

the  chest  with  the  costumes  for  tableaux.  She 
opened  it.  The  queen's  crown,  crushed  and  out 
of  shape,  was  on  top. 

•Poor  little  queen!77  she  sighed,  straight 
ening  out  the  tinsel  points. 

There  was  also  an  old  trunk  in  which  Mammy 
kept  odds  and  ends.  It  was  open.  Evidently 
Mrs.  Richards  had  piled  a  lot  of  things  in  it  when 
she  had  re-decorated  the  house  —  things  she  had 
decided  were  of  no  value. 

Sticking  out  from  this  pile,  y^gfluT-  saw  the 
frame  of  the  picture  she  had  painted  and  pre 
sented  to  her  father  on  her  twelfth  birthday.  She 
pulled  it  out. 

''  Poor  Mother!  Poor  littk  imaginary 
Mother!  I  am  going  to  take  you  with  me,  I 
wonder  what  else  is  in  this  trunk." 

She  laughed  and  cried  over  the  soiled  shelf- 
papers,  with  their  wonderful  friezes  of  birds, 
beasts  and  fairy  queens.  Mammy  had  saved 
them  all.  Dear  Mammy!  What  was  this?  An 
old  blue-serge  jacket!  Whose  was  ft?  Not 
Mammy 7s  —  she  always  wore  black  and  it  was 
too  small  for  Mammy  besides,  Esther  slipped 
it  on.  It  just  fitted.  Could  it  be  the  very  jacket 
she  had  come  wrapped  in?  Mrs.  Richards  had 
spoken  of  an  old  serge  jacket.  Maybe  the 
envelope  of  patterns  was  there,  too.  In  the  next 


308         Mammy's  White  Folks 

handful,  it  came  to  light,  wrapped  in  some  bits 
of  yellowing  cloth. 

"  Baby's  first  clothes,"  she  read  on  the 
envelope.  There  was  a  picture  of  a  round- 
cheeked  baby  dressed  in  all  its  finery  and  on  the 
back  a  mysterious  chart  showing  how  to  cut  the 
most  clothes  from  the  least  cloth.  "  Poor  little 
Mother!  You  are  not  imaginary  any  more.  You 
are  real.  You  are  real,  and  I  believe  you  loved 
me.  You  love  me  still!  " 

Still  wearing  the  jacket,  and  with  her  treas 
ures  clasped  in  her  arms,  Esther  flew  back  to 
her  room.  It  wasn't  such  a  bad-looking  little 
jacket  when  it  was  smoothed  out.  It  had  rather 
a  jaunty  air. 

"  I  am  going  to  wear  it  when  I  leave.  This, 
at  least,  I  am  entitled  to.  This  is  the  tea  rose 
I  came  from  —  this  little,  old  jacket!  "  she  cried. 

Rapidly  she  packed  the  old  valise,  putting  in 
only  the  simplest  and  most  indispensable  articles. 
She  crept  downstairs,  the  shabby  suit-case  quite 
weighting  her  down.  Without  meeting  anyone 
she  slipped  out  the  back  door.  Mike  was  in  the 
garage  rubbing  up  the  new  car.  He  looked  up, 
grinning,  pleased  to  have  a  visit  from  the  little 
mistress. 

"  Mike,  will  you  do  something  for  me?  " 

"  Sure,  Miss,  anything  under  hiven!  " 


The  Unbelievable  Story         309 

"  Will  you  take  me  somewhere  and  never  tell 
a  soul  where  I  have  gone?  " 

"Sure!  You  wouldn't  be  asking  me  if  it 
wasn't  right!  "  and  Mike  jumped  in  his  car  and 
skillfully  backed  it  out  of  the  garage.  He  was 
somewhat  mystified  at  the  appearance  of  the 
young  mistress.  The  shabby  blue  jacket  and 
battered  hat  did  not  look  like  one  of  the  elaborate 
Parisian  outfits  she  was  supposed  to  have  brought 
back  with  her.  And  the  old  valise  was  certainly 
not  the  one  that  he  had  brought  from  the  station. 

"  Take  me  to  Mammy,  Mike.  And  remember, 
never  tell! " 

But  when  she  arrived,  Mammy  was  not  at 
home.  Esther  knocked  first  at  the  front  door 
and  then  the  rear;  then  went  all  the  way  around 
the  little  whitewashed  cottage  into  the  wood-shed, 
and  even  into  the  chicken  house,  scaring  a  big 
blue  hen  off  her  nest  before  she  had  laid  her  daily 
egg- 

"  She's  not  here,  Mike,  but  I'll  just  wait/* 
she  called.  "  Now,  remember,  you  are  not  to  tell 
anyone  that  you  brought  me  here." 

"  Yes,  Miss!    Shall  I  come  back  for  you?  " 

"  No,  I  thank  you,  Mike.  You  are  very  good 
to  me.  Good-bye,  Mike.  My  best  love  to  Cora 
and  little  Esther." 


Chapter  31 
ESTHER  LEARNS  THE  TRUTH 

Mammy  had  started  on  her  way  to  Dr.  Wal 
lace's  at  an  early  hour.  She  had  planned  to  help 
Esther  unpack  and  put  away  her  things. 
Besides,  it  was  the  day  for  her  pension,  and  she 
was  as  regular  about  drawing  her  pension  as 
about  everything  else.  Once  a  month  she  would 
arrive,  and  each  time  would  find  that  the  doctor 
had  left  it  for  her  in  crisp  new  bills  in  a  sealed 
envelope.  She  had  another  reason  for  hurrying 
over,  and  that  was  that  she  too  had  seen  the  love- 
light  in  Jim  Dudley's  eyes,  and  she  felt  sure 
Esther  would  have  something  to  tell  her. 

"  My  lamb,  my  lamb!"  she  muttered  as  she 
walked  along  the  street,  after  alighting  from  the 
trolley.  "  She  was  as  booful  as  the  day  las'  night 
an'  Dr.  Dudley  looked  lak  he  gonter  eat  her  up. 
If  it  come  ter  pass  lak  I  see  it  a-doin',  I'll  die 
happy." 

"Whe'fo'  you  all  time  talkin'  'bout  dyin'?" 
Mammy's  second  voice  now  came  into  play.  "  I 
gon  ter  lib  mebbe  ter  rock  anudder  cradle. 
They's  a  plenty  er  spunk  lef  in  me  yit." 

310 


Esther  Learns  the  Truth       311 

"  Hi,  somebody  a-comin  out  er  the  gre't  house," 
she  remarked  as  she  turned  the  corner.  "  Doc 
Andy  is  got  mo'  praxis  than  anybody  in  town, 
I  hearn." 

"  Look  lak  I  done  seed  that  there  man  befo'. 
Sence  I  got  my  eyesight  back  I  sho  kin  see  fur 
up  the  street.  He  got  on  a  red  necktie,  too.  I 
wan't  never  no  hand  fur  red  neckties  on  gem- 
mans,  'less'n  the  red  air  kinder  quietfied  an'  the 
gemman  air  refimed  'nough  ter  carry  it  off." 

The  man  and  Mammy  met  and  passed  one 
another.  He  paid  no  attention  to  the  old  woman. 
He  was  occupied  in  counting  a  roll  of  crisp  new 
bills  which  he  had  taken  from  an  envelope,  care 
lessly  throwing  the  envelope  on  the  ground. 
Mammy  eyed  him  closely. 

"  Twenty  year  ain't  improved  you  none,"  she 
mumbled  after  he  had  passed  her  and  turned 
the  corner,  "  but  it  ain't  changed  you  much 
either.  You  air  the  same  Stanley,  only  broader 
an'  squatter  an'  blacker.  I  sho  am  tickled  I  done 
corned  along  this  street  at  this  time.  You  air 
still  keerless,  too,  a-making  dirt  wherever  you 
goes  an'  throwin'  papers  in  front  er  Doc  Andy's 
house." 

She  stopped  and  picked  up  the  envelope. 
Plainly  written  on  it  in  the  doctor's  hand  was 
"Mammy's  Pension." 


312         Mammy's  White  Folks 

"Umhurn !  You  done  been  in  ter  see  yo'  lubly 
wife  an'  she  air  payin'  you  ter  keep  yo'  mouf 
shet  wif  ol'  'Ria  Johnson's  money.  This  here 
air  business  fur  Mr.  Peter.  I  reckon  my  baby '11 
hab  ter  f ol'  up  her  own  putties  this  mornin'  'cause 
her  Mammy  air  got  business  wif  Jedge  Roche." 

Peter  Roche  was  a  very  busy  lawyer,  but  he 
let  it  be  understood  that  nobody  must  disturb 
him  while  he  and  Mammy  had  their  long  con 
fidential  talk. 

"  Wallace  is  a  fool,  Mammy,  a  fool!  He  was 
drinking  too  much  champagne  last  night,  too. 
That  woman  saw  to  it  that  his  glass  was  kept 
filled.  She  is  after  him  tooth  and  nail,  but  thank 
God,  this  disreputable  husband  of  hers  is  back 
at  last!  I  intend  to  tell  Wallace  this  very  day 
all  about  her.  I  have  got  her  past  all  ticketed. 
The  report  has  just  been  handed  in  this  very 
morning."  He  reached  for  a  packet  of  papers 
in  a  pigeon-hole  marked  "  R."  "  She  is  a  sly 
one,"  he  continued,  "  but  detectives  are  still  more 
so.  She  is  not  fit  to  be  in  the  house  with  Esther." 

"  But,  Mr.  Peter,  that  there  Stanley  was  there 
the  night  my  baby  lamb  was  lef  on  our  do'  step. 
S'posin',  only  s'posin',  he  up  an'  tells  Mrs.  Rich 
ards  about  it!  She  is  jes'  low-lifed  enough  ter 
go  tell  Esther.  Oh,  my  baby,  my  baby!  " 

"  You  had  better  go  quickly  and  stay  with 


Esther  Learns  the  Truth   313 

Esther  all  you  can.  Make  some  excuse  to  be 
with  her  eveiy  minute  until  this  woman  is  out  of 
the  way.  Poor  little  thing!  There  is  no  use  in 
her  ever  knowing  the  truth." 

A  taxi  was  called  and  Mammy  sent  to  Dr. 
Wallace's  post-haste. 

"  Humph !  Stylish  this  mornin' !  "  was  the 
housemaid's  saucy  greeting  as  Mammy  alighted. 
The  girl  was  sweeping  off  the  sidewalk. 

'  You  air  moughty  late  a-sweepin'  off  the 
front,"  the  old  woman  remarked,  as  she  pushed 
past  the  broom  which  the  girl  held  in  the  path. 

"  Mrs.  Richards  tol'  me  to  say  to  you  that  Dr. 
Wallace  ain't  see  fit  to  give  you  yo'  pension  to 
day.  You'll  have  to  come  to-morrow." 

"  All  right,"  was  the  ominously  meek  accep 
tance  of  this.  "  I'll  jes'  go  on  up  an'  see  Miss 
Esther." 

"  She  done  gone." 

"  Gone  whar? " 

'  Th'aint  no  tellin'.  I  seed  her  draggin'  a  ol' 
suitcase  out  to  the  garage,  an'  she  hopped  in  the 
big  car  an'  the  shover  took  her  oft3.  He  done 
come  back  without  her  an'  he  ain't  a-sayin'  whar 
he  done  took  her." 

"Air  Doc  Andy  in?" 

"No!     He  air  spected  in  at  leven." 

"  An'  Mr.  Mike— whar  he?  " 


314          Mammy's  White  Folks 

"  He  done  gone  ter  shove  the  doctor  aroun'." 

"  Air  Dr.  Dudley  been  here  this  mornin'  ? " 

"  He  done  corned  an'  gone.  He  asked  fur 
Miss  Esther.  Mrs.  Richards  seed  him  an'  I  don't 
know  what  she  done  tol'  him,  but  he  went  off 
lookin'  kinder  puzzled  lak  an'  pale  'roun'  the 
gills.  He  flung  hisse'f  in  his  car  and  buzzed 
off." 

Without  a  word  Mammy  turned  on  her  heel 
and  walked  off. 

'  That  chil'  air  gone  ter  me.  I's  as  sho  of  it 
as  I's  bawn.  Ain't  I  her  fairy  godmother? " 

She  found  Esther  seated  on  her  doorstep,  her 
shabby  valise  at  her  feet.  Without  a  word  the 
old  woman  opened  the  door  and  ushered  her 
into  her  clean  front  room.  She  took  the  valise 
from  her  unresisting  hands  and  drew  off  the  old 
serge  jacket.  Tenderly  she  lifted  the  battered 
hat  from  the  curly  head;  then  she  seated  herself 
in  a  low  chair  and  drew  the  girl  down  into  her 
lap.  There  were  no  tears  left  to  shed,  but  Esther 
put  her  face  against  the  old  woman's  faithful 
bosom  and  wished  with  all  her  heart  that  she 
was  dead. 

"  Mammy  knows  all  about  it,  honey ;  she 
knows.  She  knows  that  that  wicked  woman  done 
tol'  her  baby  something  to  make  her  miserable, 
an'  her  baby  up  an'  packed  her  bag  an'  corned 


Esther  Learns  the  Truth       315 

straight  ter  her  Mammy.     Ain't  it  the  truf  ? " 

Esther  nodded  her  head.  She  could  not  trust 
herself  to  speak. 

"  Cyarn't  you  tell  yo'  Mammy  all  'bout  it?  " 

It  all  came  out,  finally,  in  faint  jerky  whis 
pers.  Mammy  listened  intently,  her  face  set 
like  a  piece  of  bronze.  When  she  heard  that 
Mrs.  Richards  had  announced  her  intention  of 
marrying  Dr.  Wallace,  she  snorted  disdainfully. 

"  What  time  wa'  it  whin  she  made  sich  a 
'nouncement  ? " 

"  Nine  o'clock  exactly!  I  remember  my  little 
traveling  clock  chimed  while  she  was  in  my  room. 
To  think,  Mammy,  it  was  only  two  hours  ago! 
It  seems  like  a  whole  life-time  to  me." 

"  Nine  o'clock!  Well,  if  that  don't  beat  Bob's 
tail!"  the  old  woman  laughed.  "Ain't  she  one 
she  debble?" 

"  But,  Mammy,  I  can't  see  anything  to  laugh 
about." 

"  No  more  would  I  if'n  I  hadn't  a  happened 
ter  see  Mrs.  Richards'  own  wedded  husban' 
a-coming  up  the  street  at  nine  o'clock  percisely. 
She  ain't  let  no  grass  grow  under  her  feet.  That 
there  man  what  is  her  husban'  (an'  his  name  is 
Stanley  an'  not  Richards)  is  the  only  pusson 
what  knowed  about  the  time  you  corned  ter  us  as 
a  lil'  baby  chiF.  We  done  hoped  he  wa'  dead 


316         Mammy's  White  Folks 

an'  gone,  but  he  done  tu'ned  up,  an'  sho  as  shoot- 
in',  he  air  tol'  his  wife  about  it  an'  she  done  made 
out  the  doctor  tol'  her  —  the  hellcat  what  she 
air!  Doc  Andy  don't  know  nothin'  'tall  'bout 
her  being  Mrs.  Stanley,  an'  he  ain't  no  mo'  tol' 
her  'bout  you  not  bein'  his  own  flesh  an'  blood 
than  he  air  asked  her  ter  marry  him.  Doc  Andy 
done  drunk  too  much  las'  night  an'  he  wa'n't 
'sponsible.  I  done  tol'  that  proudified  butler 
time  an'  agin  not  ter  be  so  spry  a-filling  his 
glass.  Now,  baby,  I  knows  well  'nough  you  is 
a-blamin'  me  an'  a-blamin'  po'  Doc  Andy  fer 
a-lyin'  ter  you  all  these  years,  an'  maybe  we  is 
ter  blame  an'  maybe  we  is  done  right.  Right  or 
wrong,  I  ain't  sorry  I  done  what  I  done." 
She  held  Esther  close  in  her  arms  as  she  spoke. 
'  Th'ain't  nobody  ter  blame  but  me.  Doc 
Andy  ain't  never  lied  outright.  You  'member 
how  he  jes'  kep'  his  mouf  shet  when  the  subjec' 
of  his  wife  corned  up.  I  done  all  the  lyin',  an' 
I  done  it  the  bes'  I  could.  Whin  I  started  out 
in  the  fust  beginning  I  didn't  lie  no  mo'n  jes' 
enough  ter  make  it  soun'  lak  the  truf ,  but  arfter 
I  got  a-goin',  I  mus'  say  I  took  a  kind  er  pleas 
ure  in  stancifyin'  my  tale.  It  wa'  my  notion  in 
the  fust  beginning  ter  make  up  a  dead  wife  fer 
the  doctor,  an'  I  tol'  him  then  I'd  do  all  the  dirty 
wuck  an'  I  done  it.  I  wa'n't  a-goin'  ter  hav 


Esther  Learns  the  Truth   317 

you  a-growin'  up  'thout  no  name  nor  nothin'. 
Do  you  'member  one  time  you  corned  from  school 
a-tellin'  a  tale  'bout  a  liT  gal  named  'Melia  what 
wa'  'dopted  out  of  a  home  fer  foumlin's? " 

"  Yes,  Mammy,  I  remember.  She  stole  things 
and  all  the  girls  said  it  was  because  she  had  inher 
ited  bad  ways  from  her  mother." 

"Zactly!  Now  I  wa'n't  goin'  ter  hab  folks 
a-lookin'  out  fei  tricks  ter  crop  out  in  you  an* 
hab  you  a-hangin'  yo'  haid.  I  knowed  that  when 
you  got  growed  up  an  tu'ned  out  ter  be  the  angel 
you  wa'  gonter  be,  no  matter  what  corned  up,  I 
knowed  you'd  be  you  —  an'  you  air  as  good  as 
you  air  booful,  an'  th'aint  nobody  what  kin  take 
it  away  from  you.  You  knows  right  from  wrong, 
an'  you  ain't  'sponsible  ter  nobody  but  yo'  own 
se'f  fer  yo'  havior.  As  fer  me,  I  been  a-lyin* 
systemastic  fer  twenty  year,  but  'fo'  Gawd,  this 
lyin'  what  I  been  a-doin'  wa'  mos'  lak  prayin'. 
I  won't  say  I  didn't  kinder  enjy  it.  I  got  so's 
yo'  lil  mother  wa'  as  real  ter  me  as  she  wa'  ter 
you.  Sometimes  I  used  ter  kinder  think  she  wa' 
whisperin'  in  my  ear  what  ter  say  ter  you.  Her 
sperit  is  a-watchin'  over  you,  my  lamb,  an'  she 
ain't  a-blamin'  yo'  ol'  black  Mammy  fer  what  she 
done.  I  knows  you  is  feelin'  wuss  about  yo' 
mother  than  anything  else,  'cause  you  been  a-set- 
tin'  sech  sto'  on  what  you  been  a-dreamin'  'bout 


318         Mammy's  White  Folks 

her,  but,  honey  baby,  you  ain't  got  no  cause  ter 
feel  bad  about  her.  Who's  ter  say  we  ain't  a-been 
dreamin'  true  dreams  'bout  her?  She  wa'  putty, 
'cause  how  come  you  so  if  she  wa'ii't?  An'  she 
wa'  good,  too  —  I  am  sho  she  wa'  good.  What 
do  we  know  to  the  comtrary?  You  is  good  an* 
you  is  jes'  as  apt  ter  'herit  goodness  as  putti- 
ness.  You  wa'  allus  jes'  nachelly  good  an*  you 
wa'  allus  jes'  nachelly  healthy.  We  don't  know 
nothin'  'bout  what  made  her  feel  lak  leavin'  you 
whar  she  lef  you,  but  we  mus'  keep  on  a-lovin* 
her  an'  thinkin'  the  bes'  'bout  her,  an'  whin  we 
pass  beyon'  the  pearly  gates,  we  will  meet  her 
an*  she  kin  tell  us  all  we  ought  ter  know.  Now, 
my  baby  lamb,  I  don't  want  you  ter  blame  yo' 
paw  fer  nothin'.  You  kin  blame  me  all  you  want 
ter  —  you  kin  blame  me  an'  call  me  a  ol'  black 
liar  —  you  kin  leave  me  an'  nebber  speak  ter 
me  agin  fer  deceibin'  you  all  these  years.  No 
matter  what  you  do  or  think,  I  ain't  a-regrettin' 
what  I  done.  I  fixed  it  so  you'd  have  a  happy 
time  whilst  you  wa'  a  chil',  an'  I  took  my  chanct 
on  yo'  nebber  knowing  the  truf.  But  now  that 
you  knows  it,  I  feels  lak  you  is  got  stren'th  ter 
bear  it.  As  fer  Dr.  Jim,  why  chil',  don't  you 
know  that  ol'  hellyon  air  arfter  him  fer  her  own 
gal?  She  done  foun'  out  he  air  got  prop'ty  out 
in  Kaintuck  an'  she  'low  she  better  keep  him 


Esther  Learns  the  Truth   319 

in  de  fambly.  He  air  been  politeful  ter  the  gal 
an'  got  her  a-thinkin'  'bout  him.  Dr.  Jim  ain't 
studyin'  'bout  nobody  but-  my  baby  lamb.  He 
ain't  a-carin'  how  you  got  inter  this  here  worl'. 
He's  so  glad  you  air  here  an*  air  what  you  air 
that  he  ain't  a-worryin'  his  haid  'bout  no  do'steps 
nor  nothin'.  I  ain't  a-sayin'  you  ought'n  ter 
tell  him  about  it  an'  let  him  do  his  own  answerin', 
but  I'm  a-knowin  what  he'll  say." 

"  Oh,  Mammy,  you  are  such  a  wonderful 
fairy  godmother!  Already  I  feel  better  about 
everything.  I  don't  believe  Daddy  did  tell  her 
about  me.  That  hurt  me  as  much  as  anything. 
But,  Mammy,  I  am  going  to  stay  with  you  for 
a  while.  I  can't  go  back  home  while  Mrs.  Rich 
ards  is  there.  Maybe  she  will  go  on  staying." 

"  No,  she  won't,  honey ;  that  I  knows.  You 
cyarn't  stay  wif  me  'cause  white  folks  ain't  'lowed 
ter  come  stop  whar  niggers  lib.  This  hyar  seg- 
remgation  'rangement  done  made  it  wrong  fer 
white  folks  ter  move  in  wha  mos'ly  black  folks 
is  habitatin'.  Co'se,  all  my  neighbors  over  hyar 
in  the  ward  is  black,  an'  so  you  won't  be  'lowed 
ter  stop  wif  yo'  Mammy.  You  kin  spen'  the  day 
an'  res'  yo'se'f,  but  if  you  don't  go  home,  we'll 
hab  ter  fin'  a  bo'din'  house  fer  you.  But  now 
I's  got  a  lil  shoppin'  ter  do,  an'  I's  gonter  leab 
you  ter  yo'se'f  a  bit." 


320         Mammy's  White  Folks 

"  Oh,  Mammy,  let  me  go  with  you !  You  and 
I  haven't  shopped  together  for  so  long." 

"  Now,  baby,  you  jes'  stay  on  here  an'  res' 
yo'se'f.  I'll  be  back  fo'  ve'y  long.  Don't  let  no 
wolf  come  git  you  while  I'm  gone  —  lak  they 
done  in  the  story  when  the  ol'  nanny-goat  wint 
ter  the  sto'.  You  stay  an'  keep  house  fer  Mammy. 
You  kin  make  a  lil  pull  candy  if  you's  a  min'." 

Esther  smiled.  Would  Mammy  ever  get  over 
treating  her  like  a  little  child,  she  wondered? 

"  I  believe  I'll  lie  down  on  your  sofa  and  take 
a  nap  —  right  here  by  the  window.  I  don't  know 
what  makes  me  so  tired." 

Mammy  covered  her  up  with  her  best  quilt, 
the  self-same  one  she  had  used  on  the  baby 
Esther,  and  crept  softly  from  the  room. 


Chapter  32 
CLEARING  THE  ATMOSPHERE 

For  the  second  time  that  morning,  Mammy 
boarded  the  trolley. 

"  All  this  hyar  jumpin'  roun'  is  a  limberin' 
my  jints.  I  reckon  I'll  pay  fer  it  come  night 
fall,  but  I  got  some  wuck  ter  do  fer  my  white 
folks  an'  I  got  ter  keep  a-goin  fer  a  spell." 

Peter  Roche  had  been  trying  his  hardest  to 
get  into  communication  with  Dr.  Wallace  during 
the  morning,  but  he  missed  him  at  every  turn. 
He  had  hoped  to  reach  his  old  friend  and  divulge 
what  he  had  learned  about  his  office  attendant 
before  the  doctor  should  get  back  to  his  home 
to  keep  the  eleven-to-twelve  office  hour,  but  in 
this  he  was  unsuccessful.  Peter  decided  he  would 
have  to  go  to  the  Grant  house  and  take  his 
chances  on  seeing  the  doctor  alone  in  his  office 
after  the  hour. 

Twelve  o'clock  struck.  The  last  patient  had 
gone,  and  Dr.  Wallace  sank  back  in  his  chair 
exhausted.  He  wished  Mrs.  Richards  would  go 
on  about  her  business  and  not  hover  around  him 
so.  What  was  the  woman  after?  She  seemed 

321 


322         Mammy's  White  Folks 

to  be  entirely  different  from  the  person  who  had 
been  such  a  help  to  him. 

"Where  is  Esther?"  he  asked. 

"  She  left  the  house  early  this  morning  and  has 
not  returned." 

"Where  did  she  go?" 

,    "  I  do  not  know.    The  chauffeur  perhaps  can 
tell  you." 

He  rang  the  bell  for  Mike,  who  came  quickly. 

"  Mike,  where  did  you  take  Miss  Esther? " 

"  She  asked  me  not  to  be  tellin'  anywan." 

"  Absurd!    Where  did  you  take  her?  " 

Mike  said  nothing,  but  his  face  grew  crimson 
and  he  stood  twirling  his  cap.  The  doctor  looked 
at  him  as  sternly  as  he  knew  how  to  look,  but 
Dr.  Wallace  did  not  excell  in  looking  stern. 

'Why  did  she  go  anywhere?    When  will  she 
come  back? " 

"  I  don't  know,  sir." 

"  Don't  know!    What  did  she  say?  " 

"Nawthin',  sir!" 

"  Mike,  I  must  know  where  my  daughter  is." 

"Yes,  sir!" 
'  Why  don't  you  tell  me  where  you  took  her?  " 

"  I  have  told  you,  sir,  that  I  promised  her  not 
to  tell." 

'  Then  you  may  go ! "  stormed  his  master. 
Mike  turned  on  his  heel  and  left  the  room. 


Clearing  the  Atmosphere       323 

"  What  can  be  the  matter  with  Esther? "  he 
said,  turning  helplessly  to  Mrs.  Richards. 

"  She  had  a  suitcase  with  her,  but  your  daugh 
ter  has  never  treated  me  with  any  respect  or  con 
fidence,  so  I  could  not  ask  her  where  she  was 
going.  I  felt  that  it  was  not  yet  any  of  my 
business."  She  put  a  slight  accent  on  the  "  yet." 
The  doctor  looked  at  her  in  a  dazed  way. 

"  The  truth  of  the  matter  is  that  Esther  is 
jealous  of  me  and  of  Lucile." 

"Jealous!    Why?" 

"  I  felt  that  it  was  only  right  to  tell  her  of 
what  occurred  last  night,  and  she  was  very 
angry." 

"What  occurred?" 

"  And  have  you  so  soon  forgotten?  " 

"  Forgotten  what?    What  did  occur?  " 

'  Why,  my  dear  Dr.  Wallace,  right  in  the 
parlor  you  asked  me  to  be  your  wife  and  I 
accepted."  Her  manner  was  coy,  but  the 
ominous  white  dents  were  visible  around  her 
nose. 

"  My  dear  madam  —  "  Dr.  Wallace  could 
only  gasp. 

"  My  daughter  came  in  and  found  you  with 
your  arms  around  me.  Surely,  you  cannot  say 
that  you  do  not  remember.  It  has  meant  so 
much  to  me  to  know  that  all  of  my  loneliness 


324         Mammy's  White  Folks 

is  at  an  end.  "     Here  she  began  to  whimper, 
holding  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes. 

"  My  God ! "  was  all  Dr.  Wallace  could  say. 
Had  he  really  been  so  foolish  as  to  do  this  terrible 
this,  he  asked  himself.  He  could  remember  hav 
ing  his  arms  around  her,  but  how  they  got  there 
he  did  not  know.  It  was  all  because  of  that  cham 
pagne.  He  couldn't  remember  saying  a  word 
about  love  or  marriage.  And  this  woman  had 
gone  and  told  Esther,  and  she  had  gone  off  some 
where  I  Maybe  Mammy  would  know  where.  He 
must  send  for  Mammy.  In  the  meantime,  he  felt 
that  he  hated  his  office  assistant.  Marry  her! 
He'd  rather  die.  Why,  she  wasn't  even  a  real 
lady.  He  realized  it  now  for  the  first  time. 
Would  a  real  lady  have  taken  advantage  of  a 
drunken  man  ?  He  was  drunk ;  he  must  have  been. 

He  sat  and  looked  at  her  helplessly  while  she 
sniffed  in  her  handkerchief.  Then  he  began  to 
wonder  if  she  would  not  take  a  sum  of  money 
and  call  it  off.  She  couldn't  have  any  real  feel 
ing  for  him.  It  wasn't  possible.  He  would  see 
Peter  and  get  him  to  take  the  matter  up.  But 
what  a  humiliation  it  would  be  to  confess  to  his 
old  friend !  And  Esther !  What  would  his  little 
girl  think  of  him?  A  breach  of  promise  case  was 
an  awful  disgrace,  but  it  couldn't  be  so  bad  as 
marrying. 


Clearing  the  Atmosphere       325 

"  What  did  you  tell  Esther? "  he  asked  in  a 
meek  voice. 

"  I  told  her  what  you  told  me  to  tell  her.  You 
told  me  to  let  her  know  about  her  being  a  found 
ling,  and  how  she  was  put  on  your  doorstep 
wrapped  in  an  old  serge  jacket  with  no  mark  of 
identification  —  nothing  but  a  package  of  paper 
patterns  and  some  bits  of  cotton  cloth.  Of  course, 
I  did  not  relish  breaking  the  news  to  her,  but  you 
had  asked  me  to  do  it.  She  was  furious  about 
the  whole  thing  and  would  not  speak  to  me." 

Andrew  Wallace  sank  down  in  his  chair  and 
closed  his  eyes.  It  had  come  at  last!  His  child 
knew  all  the  miserable,  sordid  truth,  and  it  had 
been  his  fault.  His  little  mascot!  What  must 
she  think  of  him?  How  hurt  she  must  have 
been  —  to  learn  this  terrible  thing  from  a  per 
son  she  had  never  liked  —  a  stranger,  indeed! 
Maybe,  even  now,  she  had  gone  off  and  jumped 
in  the  river!  Blood  will  tell.  Her  mother  before 
her  had  done  it  — wThy  not  Esther?  Mrs.  Rich 
ards  must  be  telling  the  truth.  He  must  have 
told  her  all  about  Esther.  How  else  could  she 
have  had  it  so  straight  —  serge  jacket,  paper 
patterns  and  all. 

He  covered  his  face  with  his  hands. 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  don't  take  it  so  hard,"  and  now 
Mrs.  Richards  was  the  comforter.  She  put  her 


326         Mammy's  White  Folks 

arm  around  him  and  drew  his  head  down  on  her 
bosom.  With  a  sharp  effort  he  threw  her  off, 
and  just  then  Mammy  came  hobbling  into  the 
room. 

"  Doc  Andy,  I's  got  a  word  ter  say  ter  you." 
.  "  Your  master  is  otherwise  engaged,"  said 
Mrs.  Richards,  her  face  flaming  with  anger  and 
the  white  dents  showing  very  plainly. 

"  Mammy,  Mammy,  where  is  Esther?  Is  she 
safe?  " 

"  Yes,  Doc  Andy,  she  air  safe,  but  it  ain't 
thanks  ter  you  nor  yo'  household.  Ain't  I  raised 
you,  Doc  Andy?  Ain't  I  raised  yo'  lil  gal,  an* 
done  it  the  bes'  I  kin? " 

"Yes,  Mammy!" 

:<  Well,  then,  I  air  gonter  deman'  that  you 
listen  ter  me  an'  you  make  yo'  housekeeper 
listen  ter  me.  I  ain't  got  nothin'  in  life  but 
knowin'  my  white  folks  is  happy  an'  I  see  mis'ry 
ahead  fer  them  if  I  can't  speak  out.  You  make 
Mrs.  Richards  stay,  too,  Doc  Andy." 

Mrs.  Richards  wras  preparing  to  leave.  She 
started  towards  the  door,  but  Dr.  Wallace 
caught  her  firmly  by  the  arm,  and  she  was  com 
pelled  to  stop  and  listen  to  what  Mammy  had 
to  say. 

The  old  woman  had  straightened  up,  and  her 
eyes  were  flashing  as  she  told  all  she  knew  about 


Clearing  the  Atmosphere       327 

Mrs.  Stanley,  alias  Mrs.  Richards.  She  spoke 
of  the  similarity  in  voice,  mentioned  her  doubts 
about  her  identity,  and  then  told  how  certainty 
had  come  to  her  when  she  was  lying  on  the  floor 
after  her  accident. 

"  Now,  is  you  or  ain't  you  Mrs.  Stanley?  " 
Mammy  asked,  pointing  a  finger  of  accusation 
at  the  infuriated  woman. 

"  I  am  Mrs.  Stanley,  Dr.  Wallace,"  she  said 
ignoring  Mammy.  "But  I  cannot  see  that  I 
have  committed  any  crime  in  concealing  my 
name,  since  Stanley  certanly  had  done  nothing 
to  make  that  name  honorable.  As  a  widow,  I 
determined  to  let  the  past  vanish,  and  so  I  took 
my  maiden  name  of  Richards.  I  will  go,  now," 
she  remarked  with  dignity.  "  I  do  not  intend 
to  stand  here  and  have  this  vile  negress  insult 
me  further.'* 

"No,  you  won't  go!  Hoi'  on  ter  her,  Doc 
Andy.  I  air  jes'  coming  to  the  meat  in  the 
nut.  You  ain't  no  widow  woman  any  mo'  than 
Doc  Andy  is  a  widow  man.  He  ain't  neber  been 
married,  an'  Mr.  Stanley  ain't  any  deader  than  I 
is,  an'  Gawd  be  praised,  they  is  enough  life  lef 
in  me  ter  see  my  white  folks  through." 

"Stanley  not  dead!  You  are  mad!"  cried 
Mrs.  Richards. 

'  Yes,  I  am  mad,  mad  as  a  wet  bin,  an'  what's 


328         Mammy's  White  Folks 

mo',  my  bite  air  gonter  do  some  damage  bef  o'  I 
gits  thu.  Whar  wa'  you  at  a  leetle  befo'  nine 
th;s  mawnin'?  Answer  me  that.  Well,  you 
needn't  answer  if  you  thinks  a  nigger  ain't  wuth 
answerin'.  I  knows !  You  wa'  in  this  hyar  very 
room  a-talkin  ter  Mr.  Stanley,  an*  he  tol'  you 
all  about  my  baby  chil',  an'  how  she  wa'  lef  on 
the  do'step,  an'  the  patterns  an'  all,  an'  you  tol' 
him  that  you  an'  Doc  Andy  wa'  done  goin'  to  - 
be  married  an'  that  he  would  hab  a  sof  berth 

V, 

if  he'd  jes'  keep  hisse'f  dark.  An'  he  up'n  said 
he  wa'  broke,  an'  you  jes'  ban'  him  over  ol*  'Ilia 
Johnson's  penshum.  Now,  ain't  I  a-tellin'  the 
truf ?  " 

"  Let  me  go!  How  can  you  stand  here  and 
let  me  be  so  insulted?"  Mrs.  Richards  tried  to 
get  away,  but  the  doctor  held  her  firmly. 

"  Go  on,  Mammy!" 

"  Then  you  goes  up  into  Esther's  room  an' 
you  tells  her  that  her  paw  is  gonter  marry  you 
and  that  he  done  sint  you  up  ter  tell  her  all  about 
it,  an'  then  you  tells  her  about  how  she  corned 
here  —  an'  then  whin  you  felt  maybe  the  po' 
lamb  still  had  a  lil  piece  er  heart  lef  that  wa'n't 
all  broke  inter  bits,  you  tells  her  that  she  will 
do  wrong  ter  marry  Dr.  Jim  cause  of  her  being 
onlegitermat  an'  then  you  lef  her.  Now,  ain't 
it  the  truf? " 


Clearing  the  Atmosphere       329 

"  Mammy,  how  do  you  know  all  this? "  asked 
the  doctor,  hoping  she  had  some  proof  of  it.  He 
could  not  know  how  Mammy  could  have  amassed 
such  an  amazing  aggregation  of  facts. 

"  I  seed  Mr.  Stanley  wif  my  own  eyes  —  what 
is  good  as  new  —  a-comin  out  er  this  very  house 
a-countin'  a  bunch  er  new  bills,  an'  wif  his  usual 
untidy  ways  he  th'owed  this  very  Velope  on  the 
pavement."  She  produced  the  torn  envelope 
addressed  in  the  doctor's  handwriting. 

"  Now,  if  you  don't  believe  me,  you  kin  jes' 
phome  Mr.  Peter.  Me'n  him  is  a  been  wuckin* 
up  this  case  tergether.  What  I  don't  know,  he 
knows  —  but  here  he  am  ter  speak  fer  hisse'f ." 

In  walked  Peter.  The  situation  was  intelli 
gible  at  a  glance. 

"Now,  befo'  I  stops,  I  want  ter  say  something 
mo'.  You  done  took  my  penshum  an*  you  kin 
keep  it,  but  you  is  got  ter  state  in  the  presence 
er  these  hyar  witnesses  that  you  put  the  brandy 
bottle  on  the  sideboard  yo'self  that  there  time 
I  wint  blin',  an'  you  done  it  fer  meanness  an* 
cause  you  were  scairt  I'd  say  you  wa'  Mrs.  Stan 
ley.  Ain't  that  the  truf  ?  You'd  better  answer 
or  I'll  git  the  law  on  you  'bout  my  penshum." 

Mrs.  Richards  bowed  her  head.  The  doctor 
released  her  and  she  hurried  from  the  room. 

"  Dear  old  Mammy!    You  raised  a  fool  when 


330         Mammy's  White  Folks 

you  raised  me.  Peter,  why  don't  you  tell  me 
what  an  ass  I  am?"  Dr.  Wallace  grasped  his 
friend  by  the  hand.  { 

The  door  opened  and  Jim  Dudley  came  hur 
riedly  in. 

"  Where  is  Esther  ?  I  have  tried  to  see  her 
and  get  her  on  the  phone.  What  is  the  mys 
tery?  Mammy,  you  are  the  only  sane  person 
I  know.  Tell  me  where  Esther  is!" 

"  She  air  at  my  cabin.  I  jes'  stepped  out  a 
minute  ter  buy  some  Visions  fer  her  lunch." 

'Well,  come  on!  I'll  take  you  in  my  car, 
and  please  may  I  have  some  lunch,  too?  " 

"  Sho  if  you  kin  wait  'till  I  knock  it  up." 

Together  the  young  aristocrat  and  the  old 
colored  mammy  left  the  house.  From  an  upstairs 
window  Mrs.  Richards  peeped  out  and  saw 
them. 

"  Lou  Stanley,  you  are  beaten  —  and  beaten 
by  a  nigger  at  that,"  she  said  bitterly.  Then  she 
dragged  out  her  trunk  from  the  closet  and  began 
to  pack  it. 


With  silent  steps  Mammy  and  Dr.  Jim  entered 
the  little  white  house  where  the  sleeping  girl 
lay.  All  traces  of  weeping  had  departed  from 
her  pretty  face,  leaving  only  faint  violet  circles 
under  the  closed  lashes.  Jim  felt  like  kneeling, 
but  it  really  seemed  more  sensible  to  sit,  so  he 
drew  up  a  chair  where  he  could  gaze  upon  the 
girl,  and  there  he  patiently  waited  for  her  eyes 
to  open. 

The  closed  eyes  finally  did  open  a  moment  and 
gazed  at  the  young  man,  but  then  they  closed 
again  as  though  the  girl  could  not  make  up  her 
mind  to  come  back  to  reality.  Reality  meant 
misery  and  sadness,  but  her  dreams  had  been 
sweet,  and  so  she  had  determined  to  dream  on. 
On  immaculate  creases,  Jim  dropped  down  and 
kissed  her  hand. 

"  Why  —  Jim!    Are  you  here?  " 

"  Esther,  you  didn't  give  me  my  answer  last 
night.  I  have  been  hunting  you  all  day.  What 
is  it,  sweet?  " 

"  Oh  —  Jim  —  I  have  found  out  something 

331 


332         Mammy's  White  Folks 

that  makes  me  know  that  we  —  that  I  —  I  don't 
love  you." 

'  You  don't  love  me !  Esther,  dearest,  please 
tell  me  what  is  the  matter.  Didn't  you  love  me 
last  night?  I'd  believe  your  eyes  as  soon  as  I 
would  your  lips,  and  your  eyes  seemed  to  tell 
me  the  truth  last  night.  What  has  happened?  " 

"  I'd  rather  you  ask  Mammy.     She  knows." 

"  I  know  she  knows  something,  but  she 
wouldn't  tell  me  a  thing.  I  have  tried  to  make 
her  talk,  but  she  just  shakes  her  head  and  says 
nothing." 

And  so  Esther  told  him  the  pitiful  little 
tale.  She  would  not  let  him  touch  her  while  she 
told  it.  "And  so  you  see,"  she  said  in  conclu 
sion,  "  it  will  never  do.  You  might  ruin  all  your 
prospects  —  your  whole  life  —  in  marrying  a  girl 
like  me,  with  no  name  —  no  more  name  than 
Cora's  little  Esther." 

"  Well,  of  all  the  tommyrot !  No  name !  Why, 
your  name  is  Esther  Wallace  now,  and  it  is  going 
to  be  Esther  Dudley  as  soon  as  we  can  manage 
it !  What  difference  does  it  make  to  me  how  you 
got  here  just  so  you  are  here?  " 

"  That  is  what  Mammy  said." 

"Dear  old  Mammy !  What  a  trump  she  is !  " 
and  again  he  clasped  the  willing  hands  of  the 
unresisting  girl. 


Mammy's  Justification         333 

"  But,  Jim,  if  you  had  known  this  about  me, 
wouldn't  you  have  been  less  inclined  to  give  me 
your  —  your  heart?  " 

u  Why,  honey,  I  have  known  it  for  years ! 
Your  father  told  me  all  about  it  before  I  sent 
that  letter  to  you  —  the  one  I  wrote  the  night 
after  you  went  off  to  boarding-school. .  I  reckon 
you  have  forgotten  all  about  that  letter  —  " 

"  No,  I  haven't.    I  have  it  yet." 

"  Ever  since  I  wrote  that  letter  I  have  con 
sidered  myself  engaged,  only  the  engagement 
has  been  rather  one-sided.  Couldn't  you  make 
it  two-sided,  now,  sweetheart?  " 

Esther  could  and  she  would.  All  the  pent-up 
feelings  of  the  girl  gave  way.  She  threw  her 
self  on  her  lover's  shoulder  and  sobbed. 

While  Esther  was  making  it  two-sided, 
Mammy  was  waving  her  wand  to  some  purpose 
in  her  cheerful  little  kitchen. 

'*  When  they's  aigs  in  the  house,  an*  bakin  in 
the  house,  an'  meal  in  the  bar'l,  an'  a  drap  er 
milk  fer  mixin',  comp'ny  kin  come  all  they's  a 
min*  ter.  OF  'Ria  Johnson  kin  stir  herse'f  an' 
knock  up  a  snack  quicker 'n  a  wink.  I's  seen 
Dr.  Jim  eat  fifteen  corn-cakes  at  a  sittin',  an' 
praise  Gawd,  they's  still  some  'lasses  in  the 
pitcher  —  nice  black,  nigger  'lasses  wif  some 
tas*  to  it  'sides  sweetness." 


334         Mammy's  White  Folks 

"  You  all  time  thinkin'  'bout  victuals!  "  Here 
Mammy's  second  voice  took  up  the  thread  of 
reflection.  "  Don't  you  reckon  Dr.  Jim  an' 
Miss  Esther  is  got  somethin'  ter  do  'sides  eat 
corn  hatty  cakes?  'Lasses  ain't  gonter  be  no 
treat  to  they  alls  after  all  the  sweet  talk  an  — 
an  —  maybe  kisses."  The  old  woman  wiped  her 
eyes. 

"  You  cyarn't  pick  no  quar'l  wif  me,  nigger!  " 
the  original  voice  answered.  "  I's  too  happy  fer 
quar'lin'.  Things  is  a  tu'nin'  out  my  way.  I 
knows  I's  black;  I  knows  I  ain't  eddicated;  I 
knows  I  wa'  bawn  in  slabery  an*  wa'  a  woman 
growed  befo'  I  got  my  freedom.  I  knows  all 
that.  But  I  knows  Idone  tuck  my  white  folks' 
fairs  in  my  ban's  an'  I  done  wuck  'em  out  ter  do 
my  way.  It  wa'  all  fer  my  baby.  I  done  lied 
one  big  lie  an'  I  stuck  to  it  —  an'  now,  praise 
Gawd,  I  won't  hab  ter  lie  no  mo'." 

"  If'n  you  ain't  too  proudified  ter  eat  in 
the  kitchen,  yo'  snack  air  ready,"  announced 
Mammy,  entering  the  front  room.  '  Well, 
Gawd  in  Heaben,  what  kinder  carryin's  on  is 
this?" 

"  Look,  Jim!  "  cried  Esther,  not  a  whit  embar 
rassed  by  Mammy.  "  Only  look !  Mammy  is  a 
fairy  godmother.  Can't  you  see  her  beautiful 
face  with  a  glow  all  around  it,  and  her  long, 


Mammy's  Justification          335 

pale-blue  robes  with  stars  and  moons  and  suns 
all  over  it?  Those  aren't  apron  strings  in  the 
back.  Those  are  beautiful  wings." 

"Mebbe  so!  Mebbe  so!"  laughed  the  old 
woman,  delightedly.  "  But  now  I'm  a-tellin  you 
that  yo'  victuals  air  a-gittin  chilled." 

Hand  in  hand  they  went  to  the  tiny  kitchen. 

While  they  ate,  Mammy  fried  cakes  and  told 
them  of  the  happenings  of  the  morning.  Dr. 
Dudley  was  astonished  at  the  perfidy  of  the 
woman  whom  he  had  liked  and  trusted. 

"  How  could  she  have  fooled  me  so?  " 

"  Lawd  love  us,  Dr.  Jim,  you  ain't  got  no  since 
'bout  females.  You  think  they  is  all  lubly  ladies. 
So  they  is  —  all  lubly  ter  you.  Me'n  Miss  Esther, 
we  knowed  from  the  fust  beginning  jes'  what 
kind  er  she-debble  she  wa*.  but  we  bided  our 
time,  we  bided  our  time." 

"  Now,  I  don't  want  ter  hurry  you,  honey 
baby,  but  yo'  paw  air  pow'ful  unhappy  'bout 
you  —  an'  I  reckon  he  am  neglectin*  the  sick  an' 
sufFerin'  while  he  grunts  an'  groans.  An'  I 
cyarn't  see  that  Dr,  Dudley  air  ministered  none 
ter  the  ailin'  this  day.  'Cose,  gittin*  engaged 
air  kinder  upsettin',  but  it's  time  ter  be  a-movin 
'long." 

"But,  Mammy,  I  can't  go  home  until  Mrs. 
Richards  is  out  of  the  way.  I  simply  can't." 


336          Mammy's  White  Folks 

"  Why,  honey  baby,  that  there  woman  air  took 
herse'f  off  Ion'  'fo  this.  She  knowed  she  wa' 
whoopt,  an'  she  wa'n't  gonter  stay  an*  git  nothin 
mo'.  I  reckon  she  done  jined  that  there  Stanley 
an'  they  is  already  a-puttin  they  evil  haids  ter- 
gether  ter  think  up  mo'  ways  ter  do  folks." 

"And  Lucile?  Poor  Lucile!  What  will 
become  of  her? " 

'  Yo*  paw  will  see  to  it  that  she  don't  suffer 
none.  You  might  go  name  it  to  him." 

;<  I  won't  go  until  you  promise  me  one  thing, 
Mammy,"  said  the  young  man  as  he  shook  her 
gnarled  old  hand.  '  When  Esther  and  I  are 
married,  you  will  have  to  come  and  live  with  us 
and  keep  house  for  us." 

"We'll  see!  We'll  see!"  said  the  delighted 
old  woman.  "  Anyway,  I  won't  be  fer  from  my 
white  folks  wharever  I  is." 

THE  END 


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